Paul Hatcher, Embodied

Okay, I don't know how to post videos directly into blogger, but this is DEFINITELY worth clicking on a link!

Bri and Carly

Last night, I hit the town with one of my best friends in the world. We went to see "The Holiday" (which was really a warm and lovely movie). We then went to The Macaroni Grill for dinner, and got completely sloshed drinking martinis, spending well over 2 hours catching up over salads and huge bowls of chicken pasta. We then hopped over to the Buffalo Club on Granville Street to see a (decent) punk band play, before retiring back to her downtown condo for a girl's only sleepover.

What can I say about this friend that will convey how wonderful she is? We bonded instantly when we were working together in Toronto at a restaurant, spending long nights with gossip, laughter, hangman and deep conversation. I have never met anyone who is so much like me - we're both positive, bubbly, happy and social people. We have the same taste in movies, music and nail polish colours ... but beyond the exterior, we also share the same philosophy on life, love and our futures. We spent so much time together last summer in the Beaches and I was grateful to have a new friend in my life.

Needless to say, I was wrecked when she moved back to Vancouver (her home and mine) to pursue her career as a restaurant manager. It's been 4 months since she left, and Toronto hasn't been the same without our adventures together, shopping at the market, cooking together, watching sex and the city or going to see random bands playing in random bars.

Finding and keeping female friends is so hard. I have had many girlfriends in my life, most of whom I have lost touch with when one of us gets caught up in a relationship, gets married or moves to a new city. Females ... I dunno. There's just something about my relationships with girls that has always been different from my relationships with boys. All of my 'best' friends have been boys. Girls tend to judge you, tend to be jealous of you, tend to talk about you behind your back (I know ... because I am one,and have done such things although I'm not proud of it). Girls compete with each other, which I always found really hard to handle.

Carly and I haven't had any of those problems. We cheer each other on when we succeed and demand that we pick our asses up and try again when we fail. I know her weaknesses and she knows mine and we love each other anyway. No one has ever been less judgemental of me- she is on my side 100% when one day I want to move back to Calgary and teach and the next day I'm thinking of opening my own theatre school in Toronto. Her response is always the same "I love it!".

Having a friend like her, I love it too.

30 Things to Do Before I'm 30

It's make promises you have no intention of keeping New Year Resolution time. This year, I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be setting too many goals for myself - I hate feeling guilty. That's a good resolution - stop feeling guilty. Step one? No more resolutions.

2007 is going to be an exciting year for me. I'm in a steady relationship, I'll be finishing up my B.Ed degree and starting my first job teaching high school. I'll be moving again, and really making the final step towards becoming an 'adult' - supporting myself on a full-time, salary with benefits pay cheque. That's the pinnacle for me. I've put myself entirely through university, but it's not until I have a good income, a financial plan and a way to get out of debt that I'm really going to feel like I've made it. I can't wait. Living like a student is SO overrated.

Anyway, that's not what this post is supposed to be about (I love to talk about myself, I know, but I'm getting to the point). I want to make a long term list of 30 things to do before I turn 30. It's like a New Year's Resolution list, but with more scope (like a commercial, "now with MORE aspirations! Greater depth!) I'm 23 right now, which gives me until July 15, 2013 to finish my list.

Here We Go. Hopefully this is all feasable:

1. Take a painting class
2. Purchase a home
3. Climb a volcano in Hawaii
4. Visit New York City at Christmas time
5. Get into the best shape of my life
6. Coach a soccer team
7. Pay off all my students debts
8. Get married
9. Learn how to garden and grow my own vegetables
10. Buy a piece of art
11. Hike the west coast trail on Vancouver Island
12. Be an extra in a movie
13. Attend the Olympics in 2010
14. Be someone's mentor
15. Establish a daily creative ritual
16. Get my Masters degree (make people call me master)
17. Start a family (at one point in my life, I assumed I would be married at 24, start a family at 25 and have all my kids before I was 30.... wrong!)
18. Learn to identify the constellations
19. Learn how to dance
20. Get braces or veneers to fix my one crooked tooth
21. Write down my grandparents' stories
22. Bake a pie
23. Live simply
24. Go to Paris with Steve
25. Buy an expensive SLR camera and learn how to use it
26. Teach in a private school
27. Learn to play chess
28. Find a 'forever' friend
29. Climb a (small) mountain
30. Take snowboarding lessons (just so that I can wear those awesome outfits!)
!)

A Time for Action

Today is World AIDS day. HIV and AIDS are diseases that have had no effect on my immediate life. I've never known or met anyone who has been infected or affected by Aids or HIV - at least, not to my knowledge. I'm not ignorant, but I'm also not actively involved. Yet I am entering a time in my life where I am going to act as a role model and influence for teenagers who will be shouldering the responsibility of AIDS and taking on the challenge to find a cure. I have never been affected by AIDS, but I hope to inspire my students to strive for equity, social justice and change.

Today is World AIDS day and I don't know what to do to help. A classmate of mine spent 2 months last summer teaching high school in Africa, in a school where 70% of the children were AIDS orphans and more than 50% of them were infected themselves. She handed around an AIDS awareness magazine produced by the AIDS club at the school and I was struck by the students' connection between AIDS and God. They didn't believe that God could save them. They didn't believe that God was punishing them - they believed that God would bring light to their lives, despite the challenges they faced. I don't really have a comment on the religious aspect of that (not sure what I believe in) but their spirit -through their writing- was SO inspiring.

We can use Drama to talk about AIDS and HIV. We can talk about fear and we can talk about labels and we can create images and ideas on stage to investigate, to feel and to understand. That's what I love about Drama - it gives students a global education. It allows them to feel things. Please take a minute to feel something about AIDS today, wherever you are in the world and whatever your contribution has or has not been.

I should add - good luck to my handsome and lovely boyfriend tomorrow when writing the LSAT - I believe in you!

Love Transforms Everything

2 years ago on a very chilly November 27th, Steve picked me up at the airport, took me back to my house and then whisked me out on our very first date; a trip to see "Hairspray" the musical, playing in Toronto. He was reluctant to hold my hand. I was wearing the wrong shoes (I looked awful) and almost couldn't enjoy the show because I was so nervous about the possibility that he might want to hold my hand (which he finally did, pulling away after 1 song and saying "I'm glad that's over") ... and that was the start of everything.

2 years ago I wasn't sure what direction my life was taking. I had recently ended a long-term relationship and was excited to graduate from university. I wanted to do so many things with my life but couldn't decide what, exactly, I should be doing. Starting a relationship wasn't high on my list of priorities.

2 years ago, I was won over by a big, goofy, sports-obsessed Pearly Jam groupie with long legs and a history degree. I wasn't expecting it. I certainly wasn't looking for it, but love found me and transformed me.

Thanks for everything, Steve. I love you more every day.
Happy Anniversary!

Magnetic Poetry

So I couldn't sleep, for whatever reason. I guess cleaning my house and organizing all of my papers got me on a real high. And then I thought to myself at midnight, "you know what I haven't pulled out in a long time? My magnetic poetry"

I've got 4 of the kids, which roughly equals 1000 words ... enough to fill a small dictionary, if I was so inclined. I have a big magnetic board on one side of my desk that is perfect for housing the words and giving me some space for creative thinking ... and an hour later, my first poem is done!Meaningless? Maybe. Fun? Absolutely. It only takes seconds (literally, like 30 seconds) to write something and feel like a total poetic star. Hopefully (*hopefully*) I'll write one every couple of days to post here, as long as the mood strikes me.

Okay - now it's really time for bed :)
Bri

Break Through

... and, I'm back. After 5 weeks of practice-teaching in what one man in my department fondly called "The Asshole of the Toronto District School Board" (pardon his french) - I'm done and attending school as a student tomorrow morning for the first time since the beginning of October.

In some ways, the experience was as rough as it probably sounds. On any given day, 30-50% of the students wouldn't show up for class (some mornings I would be teaching 4-5 students in a class of 20). Kids came to class stoned after smoking up at lunch. One boy wore the same dirty shirt and jeans to school every day. Some would answer their cell phones during class and carry on a continued conversation in the middle of my lesson. Garbage cans were kicked over by students who got bad grades on their test. My energetic lesson plans were met with indifferent stares from students who had no real motivation to care about their own education. Assigned homework was completed by less than 10% of students. I stopped assigning homework. Group work was impossible - who was going to show up the next day? Fun activities and class competitions were impossible due to attendance issues. When a great field trip was planned, not a single student bothered to return the consent form and the trip had to be cancelled.

But there were these moments where I felt like I was doing something extraordinary. A class discussion about remembrance day in a grade 10 ESL course provided a lot of food for thought. I walked out feeling lifted by the interest and contributions of my kids. Sometimes students would stop me in the hallway to give me a high five, or ask me if I had seen the latest movie on the weekend. Once in a while, I would get a smile, a laugh or even a semblance of understanding. Those were amazing moments.

Out of everything that I saw and experienced, there is one kid who is going to stick with me. One interaction that I think really made a difference. He was from eastern Africa and sat in the back corner of an ESL class that I observed. When he showed up for school (which was rarely) he would pull his hood over his head, plug his headphones in and draw in his sketchbook, completely ignoring the lesson, the homework, the tests and the assignments. I walked over to him one day and sat down in the closest desk. "Can I see your drawings?" I asked. He looked at me. "I'm not going to take them away" I added. He handed me his sketch book and as I flipped through it, I realized that this kid was a bona fide artist. Like, his stuff was amazing. I told him so. He smiled.

Over the next 4 weeks, I would spend time every class with him, looking at his art work and listening to his stories about his drawings. I found out that his little brother had died and that most of the drawings originated from the grief and confusion and fear that this student felt. I never really pushed him to stay on task in class (which was more the teacher's job, since I was only observing). I just looked at his art. He started showing up regularly.

On my last day, I asked him if he wanted to sign the large card that a bunch of the students had made for me. He shook his head. "I don't write" he said. I asked him if he would draw something for me - his favorite thing to draw. He nodded. He spent the entire class planning his drawing and sketching it roughly onto the card. When the bell rang, he asked me if he could please stay after school to finish it. I agreed. He spent almost an hour after school carefully penning in his sketch while I read and marked papers. I finally told him that it was time to leave. He gave me the half finished card, looked me in the eye and said "thank you" and walked out the door.

I will probably never see him again but I will never forget looking into his eyes like that. Some nights I came home from teaching ready to quit the profession before I even started it. That moment has convinced me that I'm doing the right thing. And any teacher out there who has ever had a "break through" will know exactly what I'm talking about.

The World's Shortest Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, a guy asked a girl "Will you marry me?"



The girl said, "NO!"



And the girl lived happily ever after and went shopping, dancing, clubbing, drank martinis , always had a clean house, never had to cook, slept with whomever she pleased...did whatever the hell she wanted, never argued, traveled more, had many boyfriends, didn't save money, and had the entire bed and all the hot water to herself. She went to the theatre to watch chick flicks, never watched football, never wore fucking lacy lingerie that went up her ass, had high self esteem, never cried or yelled, felt and looked fabulous in sweat pants all the time.


The End

Break the Wind

In my student teaching, I'm working with a History 10 class, some sections of Civics 10 and a class of ESL students learning literacy skills. Today in my 4th period class, one of the 10 kids that I teach farted. It's a fact. I was helping a girl with her homework for another class and all of a sudden we both wrinkled our noses up. A couple of kids snickered. My mentor-teacher was looking at me pointedly and I couldn't admit to her that I had NO idea what to do. They don't prepare you for farting in teacher's college.

So I thought that I would take the high road. As the mature and focused leader of the classroom, I wouldn't mention it at all, even though by this time the entire class smelled like manure and burnt rice.

"It reeks back here!" I hear someone shout. "Who fucking farted?"

I couldn't ignore it anymore - either the fart, which keeps on smelling, or the behaviour of my students. Half gagging, I say,

"(name of student) - we're not on the playground. Try phrasing that in a more appropriate way." The kid looks at me and answers,

"I think someone broke wind."

The group of Asian girls in the back whip out their Chinese-English electronic translators and type in "broke wind". They have NO clue what the conversation is about but they know it's worth getting in on. One girl comes up to me,

"Miss, what is 'break wind' meaning?"

I thought about it. I said to her "The smell, you know the smell?" We both take a deep breath. Eeeewwww. "THAT, is breaking wind. It's an idiom."

The girl literally explodes with laughter. I passed her in the hall after school and she was still convulsing, gasping for air. "Break wind" she looks up at me and manages to whisper, "he break wind!"

He certainly did. If only I could get them that interested in my lesson plans, I'd be a star

Edited to Add:

My mom wanted to add that in my toddler years, she once dressed me as a little chinaman. She put a basket upsidedown on my head, painted a "fu man cho" moustache on my face, I wore a tiny kimono and silk pants. She thinks she may have had a stocking on my head to make me look like I didn't have any hair.

I have NO memory of this.

My brother once was went (again, as a toddler) a ukrainian cleaning lady. A feather duster, a wig and an apron, along with some ukrainian slang. He was a HIT with the old women at the doors giving out candy.

I asked my mom, "what were you for halloween". She reminded me that my grandparents owned a hotel when she was growing up, so obviously the only thing they had to use was old sheets. She answered, "fuck, I went as a ghost every year". Apparently, my grandparents would throw a white hotel sheet over her, cut some eyes and put an elastic band around her neck to keep it in place ... every year. That sounds kind of unsafe to me.

What was your favorite halloween costume?

Pugs as Bugs, and other Calamities

[my little heart stoppeth]


Ummm, shut UP. Dogs in halloween costumes are priceless. I find them so much more interesting than kids in halloween costumes. I mean, who wants to see another kid dressed up like batman? Halloween should be for dogs only. We should parade them around and have giant festival-like competitions that will boost the ego of their owners. Because, uh, why else do we dress up out dogs?

Here are some fav examples from my extensive collection of "dogs in costume"

Three Headed Dog
Dog as Yoda
Pug as Bug
Dogs as various bits and pieces of McDonalds
Dog as Lobster
Dog as Monkey DancerDog Pumpkin with one sharp tooth

Now tell me, I beg of you - did that not make your entire week?

This is Halloween

All of my formative Halloweens were experienced in a suburb of Calgary, where middle-class families lived when they wanted to raise their children in a nice, safe neighbourhood. We had almost 400 kids visit our door every year - a constant stream of witches and devils and carebears and power rangers. In Calgary, it always snowed before the first halloween, so you had to be able to wear your snowsuit underneath your costume. This meant no gypsies. Sometimes it dipped into the -20s, which meant that one of your parents had to drive block to block in the mini van, allowing you to jump in and stick your fingers into the heating vent until you could feel them again. This was typically my mom's job. My mom and stepdad used to answer the door with pantyhose stretched over their head ... I wish I had a picture of it. I wish I had a picture of a lot of my halloweens.

Here are the costumes that I can remember I had:
Papa Smurf (I wore my smurf PJs and my mom painted my face blue)
A tap dancing cat (made by grandma)
A princess (made by grandma)
A Cow (full body cow suit with head piece and udders ... priceless)
A Witch (complete with face nose and warts stuck all over my face)

After I was 11, Halloween gets a bit blurry. For a few years, I would hand out candy or help to take my sisters out trick-or-treating. After that, my friends started to throw halloween parties that were always a lot more fun to attend than hanging out at home with your parents.

I was never a huge halloween person, but I'm sure that once I'm a parent I'll be one of those fanatical moms who spends hundreds of hours hand sewing her kids' costumes. It just seems like the kind of person I would be. But as for the ghools and the ghosts? Give me Valentine's Day, any day. I don't like being frightened and I don't like the dark and everything that goes along with it (except kissing in the dark, which isn't halloween related at all!)

Wishing you a safe Halloween, whatever you might be doing. I will probably be spending it working on my lesson planning, and that is just fine with me.
-Bri

Best Foot Forward

School, so far, has been a totally energizing experience. I never realized how little I have in common with teenagers (seriously ... I thought that maybe I was out of touch WHILE I was in high school, but now I completely realize how hopeless I am). I gave my kids a poll today to get to know them a little bit better. Some of the answers were shocking. Some of them I didn't understand... like, literally they make no sense to me. I realize now why one teacher told me "don't ever ask high school kids to write personal journals for you - you don't want to read what they have to say". I mean, I just don't GET pop-culture anymore. All of the boys have long, greasy hair. All of the girls wear skinny jeans tucked into high top sneakers and shiny little winter jackets with their bling bling sticking out all over the place and their overdone make up and their wild hair. I had to live through the 80s once already!

Other than that, life continues to drag me by the feet, never feeling like I have enough hours in the day. I have so much I want to get done in terms of lesson planning, but I realize that I could be up until 2 in the morning cutting out pieces of fake money for the stock market game and totally burn myself out.

OH! I totally forgot the point of this post. That's how out of it I am. My mentor teacher is 30 years old, unmarried and totally has her life together. What I like best about her is that she wears the most AMAZING shoes. Totally unpractical, pointy-toed stilettos. high heeled pink pumps. Snakeskin cowboy boots. I feel like there might be hope for me. Clearly, she's making enough to be able to afford her manicures and gorgeous hair and 300 dollar shoes. It makes me excited. I will be a teaching in the lap of luxury. I will have exotic plants growing in my classroom. I will have a small class dog that will wear funny costumes and have an aggressive name like 'Brutus'. Maybe a teacher really can have it all.

(and for those of you who dropped out of teacher's college and don't want to hear about teaching any more, dammit ... well, there will be something else here posted when I catch my breath and sleep for more than 5 hours at a time)

B.

Teacher

Teaching, real teaching in front of a classroom of high school students who don't want to be there and don't necessarily care about the sensitive and idealistic girl who feels like a fraud standing in front of them, starts on Monday. I am prepared, I guess. I have purchased appropriate teacher clothes. I have studied the chapters. I am developing my unit and lesson plans. I will buy groceries tomorrow to pack a lunch that I will eat in the teacher lounge with all the other teachers.

What I'm not prepared for is the commitment. When people ask me "what do you do?" I automatically respond with "I'm a teacher", and then follow up with "at least, I'm studying to be one". But the secret is out - I've committed myself to the profession. I care about teaching and being in the classroom in a way that I can't necessarily understand, much less explain. I feel angry at people who go to teacher's college because they're bored, or work in classrooms because they like having the summers off (which, yes, I'm looking forward to). But it's scary to say "this is what I am".

I'm probably not much different than anyone else. When I was younger, I was convinced that I was going to do something exceptional with my life. I knew nothing other than success, essentially. I breezed through school, tested at the 99.999 percentile of intelligence, aced my college entrance exams and was basically told that the world was my oyster. I could be extraordinary - all I had to do was set my sights. I decided I wanted to be a pediatric plastic surgeon. I loved biology in high school. I got 100% in my grade 12 science classes. I wanted to be a doctor. Everyone told me I was capable of doing it. Then, I got to Queen's, missed a lecture of biology, fell totally behind in the course, panicked because I wasn't perfect, and dropped the course all together. That's my secret - if I'm not doing it perfectly, I don't want to do it at all. I had to choose another path.

I'm still not convinced that I'm following the road that is going to bring me an extraordinary future. I feel like I'm bursting with potential and passion for so many things around me, and curiosity and faith and humanity. I feel special. I feel destiny weighing on me. Am I doing the right thing? On Monday, I am opening one door and closing many others. I will not be a famous teacher. I will not make hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. I will not change the world. I desperately want all of these things. I want some sort of divine understanding. I want an amazing life.

It's hard for me to write this. I value humbleness in myself and try to practice it. But I also wish so badly for extraordinary to find me. I think everyone must feel this way sometime. That they just need a chance.

I am excited about teaching. I may not change the world, but if I'm lucky, it might change my world. I have so much respect for educators and for the profession. I just hope that I can find the exceptional, every day that I go in to the classroom. I hope that I'm in the right place and that I find the success I've been working so hard for. I hope that the kids don't laugh, or ignore me. I hope that I am enough.

THANKS!

Just wanted to give a well deserved shout out to my friend and former housemate Alana (shown above with her lookalike boyfriend Michael). Alana got super fit this summer and became sexily skinny. As such, tonight she donated all of her old clothes to me. I got a full suit, a double breasted peacoat, pants, sweaters, tanks and blouses and jeans. I am fully outfitted to be a not-as-skinny teacher and I am very grateful!

Cheers to Alana. Wish me luck tomorrow on my first day as a mini-teacher in a real high school ... I can't wait!
B.

Flames 4 Leafs 5 (OT) - LIVE!

Going to Calgary Flames games used to be a totally common night out for me. In the 90s, the Flames were a mediocre team and tickets were easy to get and more affordable than paying to go to a movie. But after I moved to Ontario to go to university, I didn't get the chance to see the Flames play for a long, long time. The most recent game I saw was in March of 2001. Last night, I got a chance to see them again. Does this situation call for face paint? I think it does! You'll notice that I'm dating a hardcore Maple Leafs fan. You'll also notice that he didn't have either a "Conference Champions" flag OR face paint on. You will ALSO notice that he's a bit of a hater. I love him anyway. Go Steve Go.
The best part of the night was that my housemate Kelsey (seen below) is ALSO from Calgary, and her boyfriend Bill is (like Steve) a fan of the Leafs. We all got together before the game for dinner and Kels and I got a chance to take some pro-Calgary pictures (we call our house "Little Calgary"!)

The Flames didn't win - but they played a fantastic game and showed a lot of the grit and speed that make them so exciting to watch. I loved going to the game. The best part was seeing the hundreds of Flames fans that live in Toronto. It wasn't necessarily like the "Sea of Red" that the Saddledome is famous for (I didn't take this picture, but it's awesome!) ...
But it was exciting to hear an audible buzz in the ACC every time the Flames scored. It was a fantastic night, and Steve didn't even rub it in. Go Flames Go!

A Prayer for Wild Thing Willy

A few weeks ago I was settling down into my luxurious bed for a long and refreshing sleep. I plumped my pillows. I got my feet all cozy. I tucked in my legs. I stretched up to the ceiling with my fingers. And then, I watched as something the size of a very small dog venture out from underneath my dresser and scuttle across the floor to the small space behind my desk and under the heating vent. This thing was huge. I wasn't even sure that it wasn't some sort of alien. I decided not to go after it. In fact, I decided to shake out my sheets and blankets in a panicked frenzy while screaming and spinning around, terrified that my visitor may have brought friends. I then created a "giant beast" seal in my covers, sectioning myself off from all the awful arachnids waiting to attack me in my sleep.

Weeks past. Today I came home from class and while dropping my bag on my bed, the little bugger decided to make another appearance. He casually crawled out from under my dresser (which I can only assume has been his home for quite some time) right between my feet. I finally got a good look at him. I watched him pause. "You little fucker. That's it fucker. You're mine". I talked to him, then flipped a cup over his giant body. Some of his feet stuck out. I tried to get them all in, but he kept running. Clearly this guy doesn't have a lot of experience dealing with the law.

This is what he looked like:





I named him Wildthing Willy.




I decided that we both needed some breathing room and a chance to think about how we were going to negotiate our relationship. I put him in a "time out" under the cup. Apparently, I didn't give him enough breathing room. Wildthing Willy, the hideous house centipede is dead. I thought I would come on here and apologize to god that I killed another living thing, even though it has 15 pairs of legs. I'm not sorry, but I do feel bad for the little guy. He can't help being an ugly carnivore. Rest in Peace underneath your cup Willy. You were never understood, but you were loved (probably, by another Wildthing)

The Fair

In light of the fact that it snowed yesterday, I went into my storage boxes and pulled out my lovely blue tweed wool winter jacket. I shook it out. I pulled it on. I attempted to do up the buttons ... and like a pair of jeans from high school, I couldn't quite get them done up. My beautiful winter jacket appearently doesn't fit me right now.

This is embarassing.

I feel a bit like the rat, Templeton from Charlotte's Web. He goes to the fair, and sings this great song:

A fair is a veritable smorgasbord orgasbord orgasbord
After the crowds have ceased
Each night when the lights go out
It can be found on the ground all around
Oh, what a ratly feast!

Melon rinds and bits of hotdogs
Cookie crumbs and rotton cotton candy
Melted ice cream, mustard dripplings
Moldy goodies everywhere

Lots of popcorn, apple cores
Bananna peels and soggy sadwiches
And gobs of gorgeous gook to gobble at the fair

A fair is a veritable smorgasbord orgasbord orgasbord
After the gates are shut
Each night when the lights go out
It can be found on the ground all around
That's where a rat can glut, glut, glut, glut!

That was sort of like me this summer. I worked in the office of the CNE National Fair, and for 35 days, I worked 13 hours a day and ate nothing but the following (all of which was free)
- fudge
- deep fried perogies
- greasy chinese food
- home made potato chips
- french fries
- pulled pork sandwiches
- hamburgers
- hot dogs
- ice cream
- corndogs

Seriously - 3 times a day, my boss would take us out for more greasy food. I gained more than 10 pound over the last 6 weeks of my job ... an incredible feat, really. I feel totally unlike myself. I can't believe my coat doesn't fit. What am I going to wear to school this morning? I'm not proud to be a templeton ... but it was fun while it lasted. I clearly ate myself sick on fair food. Now I just need to figure out a way to keep warm on my walk to OISE! (and make it to the gym today).

5 Ways to Make me Angry

Sorry for the recent lack of posts. I have no excuse, other than that my life is busy and after getting everything done that needs to get done, I usually go to sleep. That's pretty common for me.

Me not posting very often might make you angry, especially if you're my boyfriend. I thought I'd share some of my pet peeves with you, just in case you were worried about making me really mad. They're pretty standard. I don't think I'm unique in any of these. Sometimes I think up these FANTASTIC pet peeves, but then I forget them before I write them down. I guess they couldn't be so awful if I can't even remember them

How to Make Me Angry:
1. point out that I have a pimple, if I have a pimple. I probably know that I have a pimple. My complexion usually isn't a problem. When something does pop up, I don't need your input.
2. Say something ignorant about teachers. Go ahead, I dare you. Better yet, ask me what I'm doing wasting my life as an educator. I'll kill you.
3. Talk about your cat at length.
4. Flirt with my boyfriend. Yes, he's cute. Yes, he's charming. Yes, we're very happy together.
5. Write something on my notes or on my papers while we're in class. I'm really anal about my paper and if you write on it with some crazy coloured ink, I'm probably going to start fretting and feel the need to rewrite everything. I'm definitely the crazy one, but it still bugs me.
6. Throw a pop can in the garbage when the recycling box is RIGHT NEXT TO YOU
7. Pretend to be really smart and only able to talk about totally intellectual things. It's fantastic to be smart - I have a lot of respect for that. It's a bit weird if you constantly have to prove it. You can be smart and eat chicken wings and talk about 'Lost'. Seriously.
8. Tell me that you're in 'pre-med' ... there is no such thing in Canada.
9. Have 26 items in the 1-8 item line at the grocery store
10. Offer me some Brie cheese. Come on, just humor me. I get it, it's funny.

WOW

I sound like a huge bitch. I didn't even have a bad day, and here I am taking my problems out on you. I don't know where this is coming from. I'm clearly masking my horrid inner person with a sweet exterior that I can no longer fake. Perhaps tomorrow I'll have something nice to say.

Wanna know something? In 6 days, I'm going to write the name "Miss Johnson" on a chalkboard, and turn around and face a class of high school students for the first time. Isn't that wild? My practicum is starting and part of me is terrified, while the other part can't wait to start figuring out what kind of teacher I really am. I'm confident - more confident than people might think. I'm not worried about being walked on or disrespected. I respect myself - 14 year old kids can't take that away from me. I love what I'm doing and if I stay true to that, I'm going to be okay. I'm scared in a good way - like you might be scared before you get married. You know you're starting a big journey and it's probably going to be amazing, but it's hard to stand up in front of everyone and say "I do". On tuesday, my career 'begins'. Tonight - I sleep.

I Believe in Ghosts ... Seriously

It's after midnight. I was scanning through the TV listings a few minutes ago and came across a show called "Most Haunted". Now I can't stop watching it and it was the worst idea I've had in a long time. This group of british people in a blair-witch-esque documentary are hunting the ghost of Wilmina in a really old castle in England and it's really genuinely scaring me. They're doing all this night-vision filming and they're all genuinely terrified of what they're finding. They caught ON CAMERA a door slamming shut and I screamed out loud. One of the ghost hunters looked at the camera and said "this is bloody scary shit, isn't it". Great. I'm home alone with the ghost hunters. I'm never going to get to sleep.

I better go. I don't want to miss it if Wilmena shows herself. It's so awful and so scary that I can't stop watching.

Video Blogging Part 2

This is Steve's best friend Paul, entertaining me at the airshow. Horay Paul!

Video Blogging Part 1

This is my mom in our condo in Vancouver, surprised to be caught on camera.

Pirahnas!

There are my mom's pet Pirahnas, named Hambone and Meatloaf. We're trying to sell them on Craigslist, so the photo was necessary.

They're quite photogenic.

The one on the left is smiling. He has no teeth. And only one eye. Meatloaf ate it.

Home on the Range

I'll interrupt your regular morning to let you know that I'm off for the weekend, jet setting to my favorite place in the world, Vancouver. Why are you looking at me like that? Hey - I never said that being the daughter of a flight attendant and getting stupidly cheap passes was easy. I suffer. I mean, I only get to sit first class SOME of the time. The privilege comes with responsibility, my friends. Responsibility.

In any case, I'll be back home on the West Coast until Monday night. I haven't seen my family since April and it's been a long awaited visit. Not only has my first week of teacher's college completely killed my perception of being a puttering teacher dressed in bright print shirts with little whales embroidered on the pocket, with time to plant gardenias in window pots and lovingly care for a class pet ... I'll be lucky if I have time to shower. And, well, I miss home. I'll update with pictures, stories, and a bit more about becoming a teacher when I get there.

May every aircraft fly safely ...

B.

9/12

What happened the day after 9/11?

It's a topic that gets talked about and talked about and talked about. No one can say we're flogging a dead horse, because that wouldn't be sensitive (and they're right). But there's only so much that we can say about something for which no words exist.

I was in my 'drama for teachers' class this afternoon and we were discussing our thoughts on 9/11, where we were when it happened, etc. A bunch of people agreed that they refused to watch the 9/11 movies because it would be American propaganda, that no one should be allowed to make a profit off of such a tragic event. People have good reasons not to go and see the movies ... but I disagree completely.

One of the strongest tools that people to heal and grieve and memorialize tragedy (both personal, and in this case, international) is through ritual and art. Children draw pictures. We hold remembrance day assemblies. We attend funerals. We make scrapbooks. We recite poetry. We gather together in a public way and share our grief.

Theatre (which is my real interest in the matter) has been used as a way of sharing and expressing sorrow since its earliest roots in tribal ritual. We recreate pain to share it. We represent events in a real and safe way. We create something tangible out of our fears. Who is to say that making movies is not rooted in the same instinctive function?

I'm not saying that the 9/11 movies are good. But I have to defend our right to create art out of tragedy. A movie like WTC or United 73 is someones way of saying "this happened. This affected us and changed us and changed our world" It creates a collective outlet and a communal memory of an event. It gives meaning to something that is destructive. It allows us to feel.

This is starting to get wordy and I'm sorry. I guess it's something that I believe strongly in and I hope I've articulated it in a way that makes sense. I watched United 73 with steve a few nights ago and although it was hard to watch, I felt like it was an important part of my own healing. There was so much sincerity in it. I have a lot of respect for that.

I wish I could have said all of this in class.

In Memory

2996 people died 5 years ago.

I'd like to remember them all, although I didn't know anyone connected to the tragedy. I will try tomorrow to find some peace inside of myself that the world so desperately needs right now.

Other people are conducting memorials far more impressive than my own. I came across a fantastic project called "2996" - where 2996 volunteer bloggers each research and write a short entry celebrating the life of someone who died in the attacks.

I was particularly struck by two young brothers (aged 6 and 4) named Ben and Noah, who were selected to write a memorial for Mr. Lester Vincent Marino, and decided to name the tree house in their backyard in his honour. Visit their page if you have time.

http://treefortenterprises.com/

I will grieve tomorrow for the men and women who can be seen, in several photos, jumping from the towers, which is the image that I cannot shake from my memory even 5 years later. I can't imagine what people went through that day. I hope that their families have found peace. I hope we all can.

The First Day of School

I've never been a New Year's Eve observer. Although I'll join in on the midnight kissing, my fresh start doesn't happen on January 01. The true start of every year in my life has been marked by something else entirely - 'back to school'. The smell of new notebooks and the bright white of a brand new pair of gym shoes makes me feel excited. I love how freshly scrubbed everything (including me!) is. I love new outfits and new agendas and new classes and new friends.

Today was my first day of school in my B.Ed program at the University of Toronto. All in all, it was pretty status quo and all the usual suspects were present: the motivational assembly (where the music of Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" ushered us into the auditorium ... huh?). The new teachers. The picking up of the student loan documents. Nothing really remarkable happened. Why then, did I feel all goosebumpy all day? Why did I want to burst into some sort of emotional display of happiness (tears, singing, etc)? I can't wait to be a teacher. It sounds stupid, but I knew as soon as I walked into the building that I was doing the right thing for my life.

I don't really have much to say right now, except that I hope everyone has a good first week back - whether you're a teacher, a student, starting a new job or simply pulling your favorite fall jacket out of the closet. Summer is coming to an end, but everything feels like spring; fresh and new. I'm so lucky to have chosen a profession where I get to experience this renewal every time september comes around.

How To Bother Me

Here's how to make me REALLY GRUMPY: Complain to me about something that I have absolutely no interest in. It makes me even more mad if I have no idea who you are. It's the worst if you're a crazy old woman. And if I've just worked a 12 hour shift and don't feel like listening to crazy people on my commute home ... well, I can't help it, can I - we're both sitting at the same bloody stop. So I make eye contact with you, crazy woman, and that was my first mistake.

I'm sorry that the Food Building at the CNE doesn't give out free samples any more. I'm sorry that the roller coaster was dismantled in favour of a soccer stadium. I'm especially sorry that you came all the way from Scarborough to see the Chinese Lantern Festival because you had a coupon from the Toronto Star and you forgot to check if it was even open today. It wasn't, and I'm sorry. No, really - I take full responsibility for your pain. Please lower your voice, you're starting to yell. Better yet, please PLEASE stop talking to me. I only work at the casino, and no, we no longer have dollar tables and I'm sorry about that as well. Forget I said anything. You should probably go comb your hair and makes some friends, you witch

Love,
Bri

Work in Progress

Hi Kids,
I'm working on it. I got blogger's new beta version on my computer and I'm playing around with the colours, layout, etc ... all in good time. Sorry if things look a little rough for now :)

-Bri

23-for-23

23-for-23

Okay – I’m biting. Steve’s remarkably similar post “26 for 26” was so inspiring that it would have been difficult not to do one of my own. As soon as I finished reading his, I started to consider my goals for the year (however simple they may be). For the sake of a good thing, here’s my own version, updated to reflect the fact that I was born in 1983, not 1980.

1. Graduate from my B.Ed with straight As.
2. Volunteer my time for something that I believe in
3. Lose the extra 20 pounds that I’ve been dragging around since first year university
4. Write heartfelt letters to my favorite grade school teachers
5. Open an ING savings account and start contributing to it monthly
6. Learn how to walk –really walk- in 4-inch high heeled stilettos
7. Learn to play tennis
8. Take a painting class
9. Spend a day hiking north of Toronto
10. Take Steve out west to visit my family
11. Organize my books, my music, my digital photos and my files (this one may take months)
12. Send Christmas cards to friends and family
13. Read a book on a topic that I know nothing about
14. Write a letter to myself, seal it, and label it “do not open until your 30th birthday”
15. Get a job teaching high school drama
16. See New York City
17. Decide where in Canada I want to spend the next part of my life and pursue it
18. Spend a night in a bed and breakfast
19. Swim in the Pacific Ocean (it’s been years)
20. Wear a bikini (it’s been YEARS)
21. Practice gratitude
22. Find a humble perspective
23. Learn how to design my own web page

I'll post a link on my sidebar so that you can check on my progress. Vive 2006!

Flashback: 1996

In three weeks, my little sister, the light of my life (seriously, I adore her) is turning thirteen. I was at the mall yesterday and struggling to find the 'perfect' gift for her ... struggling, in fact, to remember what it was like to be 13 at all. What did I want back then? What would have been the best gift?

I turned to my usual reference library: my diaries. The particular diary I was looking for was full (FULL) of angsty entries about various cute boys in my junior high, and how I didn't have any boobs, which wasn't fair because my best friend had been wearing a bra since grade 4.

Here's what I asked for for my thirteenth birthday (on a scrap piece of paper entitled "Brianna's B-day List, July 15 1996" in my loopy adolescent writing)
- Foo Fighters cd
- Stone Temple Pilots* (*which I spelled Piolets)
- Tragically Hip 'Trouble in the Henhouse'
- bush X cd
- black umbro soccer shorts
- 'Friends' poster
- Nike soccer bag
- birkenstock shoes
- plaid shirts

Yes, that's word for word what I wanted for my birthday. So indicative of the time period, isn't it? Friends, Bush (oh Gavin Rossdale!) Plaid, birkenstocks and the Foo Fighters. I have no idea how I grew up to be such so unaffected after surviving the grunge period. Needless to say, the list didn't give me much insight for my 2006 dilemma. I ended up buying her a shirt from American Eagle ... boring perhaps, but guarenteed to be a hit with the 15 and under crowd.

While I'm on the topic of diaries: it's amazing how grown up you feel when you're that age, and how little you really know. At the back of my grade 7 diary, I carefully wrote the names and phone numbers of all the really popular girls in my school, even though I actually hated them (hated!) That way, I reasoned, if I ever lost my diary and someone came across it, they would think I was popular too and immediately fall in love with me and ask me to marry them. Seriously. I also wrote in the name and number of my capital C Crush, Steven, and then crossed it out. That way if he ever saw it, he would know I was sooo over him.

I don't know if I would do that anymore. Then again, I don't know any popular girls that I really hate (Queen's was sort of the anti-social-hierarchy institution) Maybe there's a little bit of a 13-year-old in all of us. If, however, I ever start gushing about Steve on this blog, using phrases like "I think I have finally found my life-long love", a phrase which I ACTUALLY used in reference to a kid named Colin with short hair and big ears - please, feel free to tell me to grow up :)

What Do I Do This For?

The internet age is bumming me out. Yesterday I recieved a surprise late birthday card in the mail from a friend and was touched and even a bit choked up enough to think that he bothered to send me a hand written note. It's true that a written letter carries a lot more meaning and sentiment than an email - not only is a letter tangible, but it carries traces of the person who wrote it ... little spelling mistakes, a smudge of ink, a doodle in the margin. Email could never be as personal because it's so standardized. If I had recieved the same note in my inbox this morning, I might have never really stopped to consider it, to hold it in my hands, to re-read the funny parts, to tuck it away in a special box in my room.

Most things of value to me are located on my computer. Instead of a CD rack, I have an .mp3 library. Instead of photo albums, I have a "my pictures" folder. Instead of love letters, I have emails - hundreds of homogenous notes, indiscernable from one another with the exception of the address in the "from" box.

It's strange that none of these things actually EXIST, y'know? I can't hold them or rearrange them or show them off. Some things, maybe, were never meant to be ushered into the modern age. While I can't argue with the convenience of having my entire music library at the touch of a button, I do miss writing and recieving letters from people. I think I will write a note back to that friend of mine, spelling mistakes, ink smudges and all, and thank him for taking the time to remind me of something that is important to me.

Am I a total hypocrite, praising the hand-written word and then recording my life in a blog on the internet for the entire universe's potential perusal? I guess so. I still write daily in a personal journal, but for the sake of sheer convenience (and due to the fact that I have a bit of an ego), I like this blogging thing. I just think that balance is key for me - having cds, pictures and letters that I can hold is important to me

I feel OOOOOOLD. Like a 90 year old lady who refuses to stop listening to her record player, and has one of those huge VCRs from the 1980s :P

I guess this is the end of my post. I am, for the record, going to make a point of writing more here - it's important to me, as busy as I have been lately!

Clap Your Hands Say "Happy"

If you're Happy and you know it, let your tongue hang out the side of your mouth while you look at the camera convincingly. I'd like to introduce you all to Happy - the newest addition to my extended family (which to be fair, at this point consists of hundreds of dogs I have met all across the GTA, but I digress). Happy was adopted this weekend by my housemate Michael and his lovely girlfriend Alana. Besides the fact that I am now insanely jealous, I'm also thrilled to have Happy in my life. Just look at that face! I totally intend to spoil him.

Welcome to the family Haps!

In honour of it being the general time of year that we celebrate fatherhood in all its variations, I thought I would write something about my dad. Doing so presents to me the same problem that I have when I go into card stores to buy him a Father's Day card, which is the following:

Things my Dad Doesn't Do:
1. Golf
2. Fish
3. Yard work
4. Mr. Fix It stuff around the house
5. Teach his kids to throw a baseball
6. Watch sports
7. Fart
8. Go to his kids soccer games
9. Care about cars
10. Help with homework
11. give 20 bucks to fill up the car
12. Teach about the birds and bees
13. Kill spiders

What I'm trying to say is, my dad isn't really a dad at all. So all those cards with pictures of old men fishing on them aren't exactly accurate. Neither are the sappy ones saying "you're always there for me", because - well, he's not.

I'm not complaining or looking for sympathy. I knew from a young age that my dad was "eccentric" (which is really the nice way of saying anti-social, strange and an addict). He moved out when I was very young and I've never really had a consistent relationship with him. The only time I remember us talking, REALLY talking, was when he took me out for sushi for my 11th birthday (I hated sushi, but he wasn't really paying attention when I told him that) and tried to teach me about the String Theory and the Butterfly Effect. My dad is brilliant - like, a legitimate genius, but always looks at me like he wishes I was some sort of book. Books he knows what to do with. Kids, he doesn't.

So back to Hallmark, shall we? I've almost exhausted all of my possibilities. The card that I finally come across has a picture of a little girl on her dad's shoulders, reading "Loved the View, Love You" and inside, "Still Do". It was simple and acknowledged our relationship without pointing out everything it isn't, wasn't and could never be.

Do I wish someone was there to tell my first boyfriend to have me home by 10? Sure. Did I desperately want someone to help me with my soccer drills in the field behind our house? Of course. But my dad is who he is; although I can't really say that we're close, I understand and accept the role that he's played in shaping who I am. Growing up without him, I learned to play sports, fix a car, build a shed and take fish off of the hooks without needing to call a man to help me. Maybe that's a good thing.

At any rate, happy father's day old man. You may have not known how to be a dad, but you've always been my father. I hope you know that I understand.

My (Brief) Romp with the Gardener

Anyone here seen "Desperate Housewives"? Are you familiar with the young gardener, who began the affair with Gabriella that eventually tore apart her marriage?

If not, allow me to introduce you. His name is Jesse Metcalfe. This is what he looks like:
And he happens to be in my "Top 5 Celebrities to Fuck Talk To Over Coffee" List. Tonight, not only did I talk to him (he came in with a little ho-diddy blond to have a drink at the bar of the restaurant I work at), we also had a genuine conversation.

Jesse: Putting his hand on my left shoulder to get my attention. Hi there - would you mind calling me a cab? I need to get back to my hotel
Me: I'd be happy to.
Me: lets out an audible, girly, giggle
Jesse: Oh - by the way, my name is Jesse.
Me: I know! ummm, I mean - thanks! They'll be here soon.
Jesse: Cool, great.
Me: planning on what we would name our children together as he walks away

He put his HAND on my SHOULDER. I don't care if it sounds like I'm 15 years old - it totally made my night worth while. Who minds going to work when your workplace has suddenly become a mini-celebrity hot spot? Not I, my friends. Not I.

PS - Steve, I REALLY REALLY love you.

My Thoughts On Shared History

My best friend Adam has had the same phone number since we were in grade 9 together - almost 9 years ago. It's amazing that something can last for so long. When I think about it, 9 years is also about the amount of time that I was in love with him for - totally unrequited.

Want to hear the story?

It started, for me, when we were in elementary school and our moms randomly became friends while attending our respective games at the Calgary Soccer Centre. I was playing, I believe, for McKenzie and he was playing for Midsun (both community teams in city-wide leagues). We would both be moving into the Calgary Celtic Soccer Club the following season. We were both about to be attending the same school for junior high. I looked over at him, and thought that he looked just like Jonathan Taylor Thomas. I smiled. I had a mouth full of braces. He was wearing his track suit. I had a grape slurpee (how do we remember these mundane things?) I was in love.

At first, it started out well for me - after a particularly steamy round of truth or dare at his 12th birthday party, I managed to garner myself a kiss on the cheek. We dated for 2 days - I went to his house and we watched the movie "Clear and Present Danger" together, holding hands on his couch. We would talk on the phone for hours every night. He tried to teach me how to play the guitar. Every time I saw him playing soccer in the neighborhood, I would camp out under a nearby tree and watch the game with just enough disinterest to convince him that I didn't care about him TOO much.

We fought a lot in junior high - he would comment on the fact that I didn't wear a bra. I would make fun of whatever girl he had his sights on, out of jealousy. We started hanging out with different crowds, crossing paths once in a while, maybe for a few weeks, or the occasional game of pick up soccer, but never finding the same friendship that we had started with. I had "boyfriends", a string of awkward adolescent relationships with boys named Colin, Ian, Alistair, Daniel, Justin, Mike. I had my first love and my first heartbreak. All the while, I loved Adam, truly loved him. I would go to sleep thinking about him at night and light up when I saw him at school during the day. I have never loved another human being before, or since, with the same ferocity as I loved him then. I have entire diaries filled with entries about him. Maybe everything is amplified when you're 14. I thought that my life would begin and end on the day that he inevitably realized that I was his sould mate, and he would finally kiss me like I always believed he should desperately want to.

It wasn't until the summer before high school that we found each other again. It was a small change, at first. We started talking on the phone, which led to all-night talks in his backyard tree house, to blueberry pancakes on sunday mornings and renting stupid movies and eventually becoming so close that we pretty much shared everything. He was my rock, and although I dated several guys in high school, my relationships came and went without much fanfare because I was, essentially, still waiting for Adam. I loved him more the closer we grew, and spending the night curled up next to him on the couch when I was too tired to go home was like the most beautiful sort of torture for me. We would do anything for each other, yet he was never able to give me what I really wanted from him. It was hard to hear him say that he wanted to find someone "just like me" one day, without realizing how in love with him I really was.

He was, appropriatly, the one who drove me to the airport when I left for Queens. In first year (though I was dating Marcus at the time) I would drag my phone out into the hallway and talk to him every night, sometimes until we both fell asleep on the phone. Several times he told me that he loved me, but never in the way that I wanted it to be. I continued to long for him desperately all the way into my 3rd year. I never thought I would get over him and be able to love someone else completely.

I don't even know what changed, really. Something was different when we spent an amazing weekend together in Calgary that year. I felt as though we were hugging for longer, spending more time close to each other, finding excuses to touch, to joke around. There was a palatable chemistry, an understood attraction between us. We would lock eyes for seconds at a time and I felt as though something might snap from the intensity. I knew that we would kiss (for the first time!). I knew that he wanted me. And I knew-even three years into a relationship with marcus-that I wanted him too. He planned on driving me to the airport by himself. I was in totally over my head, felt like I couldn't control what was happening. We held hands at the pub, in a way that was different from all ways before. He drove me to the airport and parked the car. He took of his seatbelt and looked at me. I felt like I had been waiting for 10 years for him to look at me that way. He touched the side of my face with his hand. I wanted to kiss him so badly. He pulled me towards him .. and I couldn't do it. I couldn't do it to Marcus, who adored me (and who I adored) I couldn't do it because maybe it wouldn't be everything I hoped it would be. I couldn't do it because the man sitting in front of me was not the boy I had fallen in love with. I couldn't do it because I knew that there was someone out there who could love me more completely. Who wouldn't make me wait for 10 years. Who would find me incredible and irresistable and would chase after me and crave me and want to know every thought and feeling in my head. I got out of the car. For me, it was over.

I've seen him a few times since then, and have never discussed what happened between us. The tension is gone, the attraction vanished. I look back on my 10 years of total devotion and don't even recognize myself - the feelings seem so alien to me now. I called him tonight, just to say "hi", my fingers sliding effortlessly across the keypad in a way that was memorized years ago. His voice makes me smile, but there's nothing more I want or need from him.

I guess people change in ways that they can't imagine. I'm so much happier with myself now that I don't feel incomplete without him - and now that I have someone who is truly crazy about me, for me. I don't have to jump through hoops for Steve or be anything other than exactly what I am. Maybe that's why I love him so much. Or maybe it's because he doesn't look like JTT (what was I thinking???)

Sunday Morning

A few girlfriends and I had brunch at the Hot House Cafe in St. Lawrence Market this morning - it was incredible! We all wondered how we had lived in this city for so long and not done this together. Even better than the all-you-can-eat buffet was the fact that Front Street was closed for what could only be called a Festival of Dogs ... HUNDREDS of dogs, some decorated with bows, some wearing hats, some wearing soccer jerseys. Dog shows, dog exhibits, dog venders and dog meet and greets. Did I mention hundreds of dogs?

I thought I had died and gone to some sort of special heaven. I was nearly speechless as I sat on the curb waiting for my friends and met dog after dog. (See below)



And here's some pictures of the girls and I:

Me, Michelle and Elizabeth
Victoria and Carly

Have a great sunday everyone - I know I did!

Why English is hard to learn

I selfishly used to think- usually in the middle of a boring spanish class-that it would be beneficial if the entire world could just learn English. I mean - I learned it without even trying! But what I now know is that English is one of the strangest and most difficult language to acquire. Take this as an example (I found it fascinating!)

Why English is Hard to Learn
1. We must polish the Polish furniture.
2. He could lead if he would get the lead out.
3. The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.
4. Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present.
5. A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.
6. When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.
7. I did not object to the object.
8. The bandage was wound around the wound.
9. The farm was used to produce produce.
10. The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.
11. The insurance was invalid for the invalid.
12. There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.
13. They were too close to the door to close it.
14. The buck does funny things when the does are present.
15. A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.
16. To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.
17. The wind was too strong to wind the sail.
18. After a number of injections my jaw got number.
19. Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear.
20. I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.

Wild, hey? I guess it keeps me from taking things for granted.

Have a good wednesday, all

(just about) Street Smart

I was walking to meet Steve and a few friends on Friday night, from College Street down to Front. As I was crossing Queen, I waited at the light with three girls who looked like they were headed out for dinner, and overheard this conversation:

Girl 1: "Make sure that you keep your purse real tight against your body girl."

Girl 2: "I heard on Oprah that you gotta keep your zipper in, so they can't open it from the back"

Girl 3: "I ain't got nothin' in my purse that you gotta worry about. No cell phone, no money, nothing. Just kleenex"

Girl 1: "I tell you, I tell you - you gotta keep an eye on your purse. Zippers too. It's not like mississauga where you can just walk around"

Girl 2: "Amen to that"

And then we all crossed the street and they disappeared into the Queen Street crowd. I was like that when I moved to downtown toronto in September. Scared to ride the subway, scared to leave my house at night, scared that everyone who made eye contact with me was going to rob me blind. But I've (accidentally) left my purse, with keys, a wallet and a cell phone on a subway platform and got it back with everything, even the CASH, intact. It changed my view that I was unsafe in this city. Now, I feel pretty confident navigating around downtown. I've learned which places are safe, which places are sketchy, and which 7-11s have creepy people standing outside of them asking for your change. I've walked home from the restaurant I work at to my house after midnight and felt pretty safe. Toronto may be big, but it's not so bad. It was funny thinking of how far I've come with my "street smarts" ... though, to be honest, I still clutch my keys between my fingers so that I can attack anyone that comes too close to me. I guess deep inside, I'm still a big wuss. Now I'm just a big wuss who's doing okay in a big city.

A Life Less Ordinary

It's amazing how content I have been lately with ordinary. My days are perfectly ordinary; I catch the street car at 8:30, do some work until about 5, go home, do laundry, watch TV, talk to Steve, head to bed. I'm not bored. I'm not stuck in a rut. I'm just doing what I'm doing.

When I was younger, I used to write my goals for the year on the last page of my diary, carefully folding it over and writing "for my eyes only" on the back. My goals were simple. At 12, I wanted to do a good back handspring, keep my bedroom clean and kiss Adam Ford. At 16, I wanted to get the best marks in my grade. Last year, my goal was to get into my B.Ed program.

Right now? Nothing. That's what makes it so ordinary. I actually don't really have any goals, other than "have clean underwear" and "pack lunch for tomorrow". Like, seriously - I'm in a self-improvement lull. But it's no so bad. Maybe I like being me just the way I am right now. How often can we say that? "I am perfectly happy with myself in every respect". Everyone is always trying to be younger, faster, sexier (well, okay - of COURSE I'd like to be sexier), better better better. There's not a lot of peace in that. So here I am, saying that I am trying VERY HARD to be happy with my ordinary life.

In other news, I blew up the staff room microwave this morning. I thought I would nuke a couple of those mini peanut butter packets so that they would spread all warm over my toast. But instead, I caused an explosion so intense that it forced the microwave door OFF. It was just before lunch, too. Everyone had to walk to the other building to heat up their leftovers. So yeah, you could say that it's been an interesting day.

Life is simple. Simple is good. I have a clean room, beautiful weather, a good job, a smart boyfriend, a cool set of rollerblades.

(ADDENDUM: I just went catalogue shopping for office supplies, again. This good mood, therefore, may be totally elevated by the fact that I just bought 8 felt-tipped pens for myself. By 6pm, I could be a grouch again ... not that I'm ever a grouch)

Love is in the Air

My romantic astrological forcast for tomorrow is as follows:

"Your relationship is quite romantic, but it may not conform to other, more conventional ideas of moonlight, roses and violin music. So be it. You know that your connection isn't run-of-the-mill -- it's extraordinary."

So be it indeed. I can't help but to agree wholeheartedly - whether or not I always like it. So in honour of my not-romantic-yet-extraordinary relationship with my not-romantic-yet-always-unconventional-boyfriend, I've decided to post a little photo stream that I like to call

"The Many Faces of Steve Johns"










I have no comments except that I love my boyfriend very much; clearly evident by the hundreds of stupid photos I have of him stored on my computer.

Raindrops Keep Fallin' on my Head

It's raining today, and will be "heavy at times" according to the weather man. I don't mind the rain in the spring - I love how fresh it makes everything feel.

In honour of a *very* rainy day, here is a rain fact for all you Vancouver haters:

In 2005, Vancouver got 1016mm of rain. New York City recieved 1014mm of rain (not to mention all of the additional snow), which means that NYC gets more precipitation annually than Vancouver. Seattle only recieved 918mm of rain all year!
People think that it rains every day in Vancouver, but that's not necessarily true. It rains *hard* during the winter and is often misty without a lot of direct sunlight, but it's not like we live under some perpetual rain cloud. So you all can go hate on a different city.

I'm glad I cleared that up.

Today's Theme Song: Rain Drops Keep Fallin' On my Head (Ben Folds version)

Awkward, at best

In case you were wondering this afternoon how dexterous I REALLY am, consider this: two mornings ago, while carefully shaving my legs with a new razor, I cut off a 2-inch long, half-inch wide strip of skin. I looked down at my bleeding leg and wondered to myself (in a terrifying moment of pain) how long it might take me to bleed to death.

15 band-aids and 24 hours lated, the cut is still bleeding. I refuse to believe that I need it stiched, however am confined to wearing long pants for at least the next few weeks while it heals.

And you wonder why I didn't end up becoming a doctor :)

Live from Niagara Falls

The concert last night was a lot of fun, but surreal at the same time (I was watching one of my favorite artists in a 3/4 full gymnasium populated with abercrombie and fitch-wearing floozies american university students...making me feel totally old and un-cool) Highlights: Hearing "Still Fighting It" (my recent Ben Folds life-theme-song, featuring the lyrics "everybody knows/it sucks to grow up/but everybody does/it's so weird to be back here"). 1 Angry Dwarf and 200 Solomn Faces (double time encore version). People watching from the top seat of the stands. Mr. Folds standing on top of his piano, leading the audience in a 3-part choral harmony to accompany "Not the Same". The improvised "Rock This Bitch (Niagara Falls)". Folds awkwardly playing the Star Spangled Banner on the bass guitar.
Overall, a very cool way to spend a Saturday night. I think I would like to go back to the Falls and spend more than 45 minutes there ... a very fantastical and alternate-universe type of city. I was blown away by how commercialized the community is. They've bastardized the most beautiful natural wonder in Canada ... the hundreds of Falls-centric stores, restaurants and casinos devalue what is so wonderful about it in the first place. It was fun and sad at the same time, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, here are a few pics (I didn't take many). Time to rent a movie and relax - a full work week ahead.
The street I live on (so pretty in the spring!)
Flowers in my neighbour's garden
Fat Guts goes international!



The American side of the Falls (we didn't have time to walk over to the 1,000,000 times more spectacular Canadian side)

Ben Folds Live

It snuck up on me without me realizing it - tonight I get to strike Ben Folds (without the Five, but still rockin', hopefully) off of my "Top 5 People I Haven't Seen In Concert" list (which still includes Paul McCartney, Tom Petty, Bob Dylan and Norah Jones, but I digress)

I don't know what to expect from the show tonight. We're seeing it at Niagara University just across the border. I'm basically going in open-minded; I don't think that a lot of his newest stuff (off of "Songs for Silverman") is particularly groundbreaking, but he has such an incredible catalogue that pretty much anything is possible.

In particular, I'm hoping for:
The Luckiest (obviously, since I am a female)
1 Angry Dwarf and 200 Solomn Faces
Still Fighting It (my BFF favorite)
Fred Jones Part II
Best Imitation of Myself

I started listening to Ben Folds in 1993 when I discovered, by accident, Rockin' The Suburbs (I found the album in my school's lost and found where I volunteered ... at the end of the year when it went unclaimed, I took it home) Maybe for nostalgia's sake, it's still what I believe to be their best album. This night, therefore, is 13 years in the making for me and I'm sure whatever happens, I'm going to leave happy.

Pictures and review to follow. Happy Saturday!

New Job, New Bri

I just finished my first week of my summer job (for this year and potentially for next year), doing HR for a certain national fair that takes places in August and the beginning of September. Amidst the paperwork, coffee breaks and meeting about 100 new co-workers who I can't really tell apart, two things stand out to me so as being worthy of the following: Best Things About My New Job

Best Thing About My New Job #1: I have a 30,000 dollar expense budget for office supplies. Keep in mind that I have been very, VERY poor lately and haven't even had the motivation to window shop. Keep in mind how happy I am when I am let loose in the mall with a few dollars in my pocket. What does 30 grand and an empty office equal?

SHOPPING.

Not just any shopping. Catalogue shopping - the most delicious and forbidden type. I flip through the pages, mark down the order numbers ... and it magically arrives at my office later the same day. It's like communicating directly with God. I've bought pens, hole punchers, desk organizers, notebooks and whatever else I feel I might need to do my job properly. I get absolutely drunk on shopping power, and feel like it's christmas every time another box from Corporate Express arrives in my office via the cute-as-a-button high school mail boy. Right now, all I can think about is what I'm going to order on monday.

Best Thing About My New Job #2: The dusting Machine.

I don't know what to call it. I don't understand how it works. But the first thing I saw when I got my office was this: It's a duster. A duster that sprays air out a tiny hole, and is capable of dusting ANYTHING ... underneath my keyboard. In the corner of my windowsill where all the outside dirt piles up. In the little nooks and crannies of my desk that a swiffer would never dream of reaching. I am drunk on dusting power (and a bit intoxicated by the fumes).

All I have to say, after my first week on the job: bless us, everyone, who work in such amazing conditions.

8 months

8 months ago, I arrived in Toronto to start my MA degree at the University of Toronto ... and two weeks later, I withdrew, citing "irreconcilable differences" with the drama program. I started to wonder (now that I had moved all my stuff here and signed a year-long lease) what I was going to do for the next 11 months and two weeks before I went back to school. I felt overwhelmed. I felt disappointed in myself; I was desperate to complete all my schooling so that I could start 'life' at a relatively young age. A year off with nothing planned felt like a waste of my time and meant that my entire adult life would commence a year later than I had hoped (at the ripe old age of 24!).

Most of all, I was terrified of how I was going to survive in a city where I didn't know anyone and wasn't really doing anything; passing all of that time and managing to be happy seemed like an impossible task.

For the first 5 months I nannied for a wealthy family in Forest Hill, 60 hours a week. Every day felt like an eternity and I often came home at the end of my shift too tired to care about making my own dinner, after spending an hour cooking food for the family and then leaving just as they sat down to eat it. I was lonely (a four year old does not a best friend make!) and frustrated that my job duties were limited to changing diapers and being yelled at for various misdemeanors such as using the wrong knife to cut the kids apples, and (gasp) washing the frying pans by hands instead of putting them in the dishwasher. After coming home several days in a row and crying myself to sleep in January, I quit.

7 months to go.

I got a job working in a restaurant downtown as a hostess. In general, I've really enjoyed it, and as soon as I wasn't working 11 or 12 hours a day at a job I hated, time started to fly by. I made friends. Spring began. And all of a sudden ... it was the end of April. 4 months to go.

I just got back from a weeklong trip to BC and I start a new job on Monday morning, working as HR administrator for the Canadian National Exhibition Casino. For the next 4 months I'm going to be working long hours, making lots of money and hopefully time will pass by so quickly that it will be August before I know it.

I didn't mean for this to be such a long entry.

The point is -if I have a point at all: what I once considered to be a 'pointless year' that I just had to 'get through' has actually afforded me the opportunity to learn things that I would never have learned in school. I have been miserable, and survived. I have been worked like a dog, and survived. I have slowly become a citizen of toronto, navigating the transit system and walking home clutching my purse at 2 in the morning ... and survived. I am stronger, more mature, more open minded and more laid back than I used to be. I don't feel as smart, but I feel more prepared to start my adult life. I have had good naps and read great books. Most importantly, I have learned to value my friends - most of them are out of town and time together is precious.

It has been a wonderful and awful and scary 8 months. I am so glad to be in the 'home stretch' - looking forward to September. I am reminded now that there really is a silver lining in what feel like the worst days. I hope to make the most of what I have left in my useless year off.