One person was surveyed; the most popular answers are on the board

what time is it? 9:25 am
full name: Brianna Marie Johnson (and on a side note, a boyfriend in grade 8 once copied out a sonnet for me, and addressed it to Brianna Murrey Johnson)
age: 22
height: 5’4
weight: 137 lbs
eye color: Grey
hair color: Brown
skin color: Light
birthday: July 15, 1983
birthstone/sign: Ruby/Cancer
makeup or none?: It’s nice to look pretty, but I can survive without my lip gloss and mascara. When I was playing soccer in high school, I *never* wore make up
nationality: Canadian
school: Even though Queen’s still feels like home, I’m about to start my Masters degree at the University of Toronto

characteristics____x
devil or angel: I would like a bit more devil in me, but I’m generally all good
confrontational or let things slide: Let things slide. I’d rather bottle something up than risk hurting someone’s feelings
introverted or extroverted: Extroverted, with a strong need for alone time
aloof or concentrated: I don’t think I would ever choose either of these words for myself, but if I have to, I guess concentrated is the lesser of the two evils
are you one to take things seriously: If it’s necessary
very analytical of what others say: Less so than I used to be
do you think before you act: I’m impulsive in an “act now, consider the consequences later” sort of way
serious or comedic: both have their place and time
selfish or selfless: Selfless
do you consider yourself to be honest? I try really hard to be. Lying makes me feel sick inside.
describe yourself: Sunny, cheerful, optimistic, athletic; I wear my heart on my sleeve. Love animals, hoodies and hugs. I care a lot about family and having a place that feels like home.
how does your girlfriend/boyfriend feel about you?: Steve thinks that I have a big heart and a big head – he teases me a lot but I know that I’m important to him (because I make him tell me so :P)
how do you feel about yourself?: 95% of the time, I’m happy being who I am
describe your girlfriend/boyfriend?: Steve is stubborn, witty, careful to always make the right decision and is both the most intelligent and the most passionate person I’ve ever met. He has a really strong sense of self, and an exterior that doesn’t always betray how sensitive he is inside. In short, I’m absolutely fascinated (and often confused) by him
what would you rather be doing?: Curling up with my stuffed animal fat guts and taking a nap
describe where you live?: My home city always seems to be changing. Right now I’m living in Vancouver, one of my favorite places in the world. Everywhere I go, it’s green, green, green – and what’s not to love about the ocean?
describe how you love?: Easily and completely. My boyfriend would probably say that I love with too much heart and not enough head.
have a good sense of humor?: I have my own sense of humor (and Alana is the only one who gets it)
what did you have for breakfast this morning?: a pear. I was in a rush, and now my stomach is grumbly
what are you looking forward to?: Being finished with my job, moving to Toronto and finally being in the same city as Steve after spending 9 months in an LD relationshipany
major flaws?: Nothing that makes me so broken that I can’t be fixed!

favorites_________x
movie: Moulin Rouge, Sleepless in Seattle, Bend it Like Beckham, Shakespeare in Love, Big, Rain Man
television show: Dawson’s Creek, and I’m really starting to get hooked on 24
band: Oasis, The Rolling Stones, The Kinks, U2, The Beatles
actor: Tom Hanks
actress: Reese Witherspoon
food: Caesar salad, lasagna, garlic bread, strawberry-rhubarb pie
ice cream flavor: Strawberry
song: Tom Waits/Time, Rolling Stones/Roadhouse Blues, Jeff Buckley/Hallelujah, Everclear/Santa Monica
book: The Alchemist, Tuesdays with Morrie
number: 11
color: Raspberry
store: J.Crew, the Gap
animal: Orangutan
scent: Orange Blossoms, Fresh Laundry
album: Oasis/WTSMG?, The Beatles/Sgt. Pepper, Rolling Stones/Exile on Main Street
movie soundtrack: Moulin Rouge, Forrest Gump
season: Spring
t-shirt quote: Alana has a tee shirt from Abercrombie that says “incredible view”, and I absolutely LOVE it
holiday: I adore Christmas
school subject: In high school, I loved biology and math
random thing: Old-Standard Jazz music and children’s books, and I'm obsessed with the muppets (especially kermit)
thing to do on the 'net: Read random blogs, learning for fun on encarta.com, playing mah jong with Alana on zone.com
thing to say: “Do you know what I mean?”, “I’m SENsitive!”
car: Audi A4
favorite childhood memory?: being read to by my step dad before bed at night
favorite vacation?: I haven’t been on a lot of vacations, but I always loved going to our family cabin in Manitoba during the summer

this or that_______x
pepsi/coke: Pepsi (unlike my bigamist boyfriend, who chooses not to choose!)
cat/dog: Dog (cats and I have never gotten along)
real/fake: Real … imaginary is good, but I hate the word fake. Calling something fake makes it seem like it’s not valid
lust/love: Love – but lust is infectious and fun
tv/movies: Movies. I don’t really watch a lot of TV
hug/kiss: Hug
love/be loved: Love
night/day: Day
dark/light: Light
hot/cold: I *hate* being cold
silver/gold: Silver
taking pics/pics taken: Taking pics. I always look geeky in photographs
blonde/brunette: Brunette, of course!
good/evil: Good. I don’t know if people would take me seriously if I tried to pull off evil. But naughty, on the other hand...
sweet/sour: Sweet. I always used to make my best friend suck the sour layer off of fuzzy peaches before I ate them (I know, that’s probably really gross)
dl'ing music/buying music: I have a lot of respect for the album in its original form. If I want to check out a song, I’ll download it, but I’d always rather buy
indoors/outdoors: Outdoors. I hate artificiality
left/right: Left. It seems more original
living for the moment/future: I love the idea of the future
cell phone/regular phone: Regular phone. I don’t do technology (okay, okay - I own a cell phone. But there are some times when I would prefer not to be ALWAYS in touch with people)

friendship________x
are you popular? I don’t think popularity really means anything. I have a lot of people in my life that I care about, though
number of close friends? Really, REALLY close? 5 or 6
friend you talk to the most? Steve (does that count?)
friend you see the least? Adam Ford
friend you see the most? Alana (and over the summer, Lisa)
friend who goes to you for advice? Paul
friend who YOU go to for advice? Adam Say, always
ever made out with a friend? Yes. Many, many times. Next question.
best friend: Adam, Alana, Marcus
funniest friend: Jon T
ditziest friend: Nahri, for sure. And I love her for it. Also, Ted – for different reasons
most unfortunate friend: Adam, for being so unfortunately geeky that I can’t help but to love him
smartest friend: Marcus, Alex P
quietest friend: Kevin
loudest friend: Emily, Eip
longest lasting friend: Adam and Stephanie
prettiest friend: Alana!
cutest friend: my dog, Waldo
hottest friend: Steve :D

random__________x
what's the worst memory of your life: When I got lost at the Calgary Stampede at 2 in the morning. Throwing up on the soccer field during the provincial championships. Various memories to do with my dad that are too complicated to get in to
do you have any siblings: A brother, Regan  (20) and two sisters, Jessica  (12) and Hannah (9)
the funniest or most disgusting thing you had to do in a game of truth or dare: Eat a raw potato, start a conversation with a prostitute, skinny dip in a public lake (I REALLY hope my mom doesn’t read this)
do you like your name: No … too ‘80s’
what are your favorite boys/girls names: Avery, Madeleine, Lise / Benjamin, Sebastian, Oliver
when you dream, do you see yourself, or do you see through your own eyes: I see through my own eyes
do you have any phobias: snakes and needles
does glitter make you sick: I occasionally indulge in glitter :D
do you consider yourself to be a very sexual person: I consider myself to be healthy and happy in the sexual department, but I don't think I'm in the extreme range
what kind of shampoo / conditioner do you use: Pantene
what kind of body wash do you use: Oil of Olay
do you consider yourself to be spoiled: No, but sometimes I desperately wish I was, because it seems so much nicer than being scared about money (isn’t that horrible?)
what is your religion? I’m not sure, actually. I haven’t really settled anywhere and I’m not even sure if I want to
are you a big music freak: I love music
do you believe in love at first sight: In a way; I think that when you meet someone that you eventually fall in love with, you instinctively know that there’s something special about them
do you believe love can only happen once in a lifetime: No, and I don’t think that there’s one soul mate for every person. You can love a lot of people in a lot of different ways
do you believe in evolution: Of course – I’m a science girl
is there anything you really hate: Mean girls. I’m so intimidated by them
what are your views on plastic surgery: I think wrinkles and imperfections are what make people beautiful, although I might think differently when I’m 50
what are your views on drugs and alcohol: I don’t like how they make me feel and act, but I’m pretty tolerant in other people; if it doesn’t affect me, I don’t care
are you down with the spongebob craze: I’m REALLY resistant to crazes. I like to find my own thing
do you have any collections: I collect ugly key chains and am so proud of them
name a place you visit often: San Francisco, Calgary
do you think you're hot: I think I’m … nice. And approachable. But not hot, exactly
do you have any piercings: 2 holes in each ear
do you want any piercings: My belly-button, if I get skinny enough
what are your views on piercings: Not very attractive, as a rule
do you have a tattoo: No
do you want one or another one: I was actually giving it serious consideration – I’d want to get a 4-leaf clover somewhere discreet. It’s cool to think that your body is different than anyone one else’s because of a tattoo. The originality factor is great
share a few words of wisdom?: seek first to understand. If you can choose calm, be calm. If you can choose love, do so.
how often do you spend time online: I’m online whenever I’m bored and feel like bumming around. And since I’m in a long distance relationship, msn is our lifeblood
do you get along with your parents: My mom is my closest ally, and I’m starting to get to know my dad better, after a rough time when I was younger
how was your childhood: Average – ups and downs, but I was generally happy and involved
pets?: Dog (Waldo) and a boyfriend named Steve :P
feeling on politics: I waiver between right and left wing, depending on the issue
like hippies?: Love ’em
like thugs?: Don’t understand ‘em
like Punk rockers?: Real, genuine punk rockers (think NOT Avril) I have a lot of respect for. Pesudo-punks get on my nerves
like hXcers?: Whaaa?
like metal heads?: I’m a bit scared of them, but they always turn out to be really nice
like ravers?: Ravers are SO much cooler than I’ll ever be
like posers: Who likes posers? Nobody, I don’t think.
like goths: Nah – I can’t take them seriously
like hicks?: No, but they are generally the butt of my jokes with my ex-boyfriend, who lives in Tennessee
like racist people: No ... and I also don't like koreans ;)
like preps: Not ones that don’t seem comfortable with it
are you a virgin: No. Definitely not.
how's the weather?: Warm, but my office air-conditioning makes me feel like it’s a balmy 12 degrees below, day in and day out
do you like living: of course I do!
what do you want to be: a mother, a wife, a contributor, a listener, a friend, a role model
how was your day: I was awoken by the always pleasant boyfriend, sternly commanding “Heed, wake up” – so, it was usual. Thanks for asking.
what are you wearing: Office outfit – green skirt, white hoodie, white tank top
doing anything later: Sleeping, hopefully
tomorrow?: More of the same. Work is nothing if not monotonous
ever try to commit suicide: No

have you ever _______x
been in love? I've been in love, real love, twice (happily, one of these relationships is still going very, very strong)
kissed the same sex? Sure. More times than I care to admit, actually
seen your favorite band live? Some of them yes, some of them I’m still waiting on (or hoping that John Lennon will come out of hiding, and say “gotcha!”)
taken any kind of lessons? Piano, swimming, gymnastics, public speaking, soccer, art, dance, theatre
won any contests? No, but I obsessively enter any contest that I come across
cussed out your mom/dad? I called my mom a bitch yesterday, in response to her calling me a little fucker. I assume this counts
looked at the stars with a loved one? Yeah - we watched a meteor shower together, it was wild
wanted to kill someone? Only once, and I probably shouldn’t talk about it :P
hated someone? Hate is a pretty strong word
cheated on someone? Emotionally, I’ve cared about two people at once.

one, neither, or both____x
mom or dad: Mom
girl or boy: Boy!
gun or knife: neither
deaf or blind: neither, obviously
penis or vagina: :D
eyes or toes: Toes!
tongue or lip rings: Yuck
nipple or nose rings: A nose stud looks really good on some girls, but for me - neither
green or blue eyes: Blue
punk or thug: Punk!
date same or opposite sex: Opposite

first thing that comes to mind__x
fish: guts
fat: Rosie O’Donnell (Sorry, Rosie)
roast Beef: Arbys!
school: Excited
asshole: DEnnis Leary
poser: High School
slut: Sexy, in some circumstances
funk: Rhythm
drums: Animal from the muppets
dead: Poets Society
president Bush: Chimpanzee
America: Garbage
cactus: Arizona
peach: Pie

Me, my wrist and I

When I was in grade 11, I took an awkward fall during a soccer game and jammed my right wrist as I fell back on it. Not thinking too much about the injury, I taped it up and continued playing. A few weeks later, I noticed that I had a hard time playing badminton in gym class. One year after the fall, I still wasn't able to ride a bike because putting pressure on the palm of my hand caused a really awful pain sort of like hitting my funny bone. Now, 5 years later, I can't ride a bike, do pushups or play racket sports. And it finally occured to me today as I was inspecting my wrists and realizing that there was a bone sticking out of my right one that wasn't at all visible in my left, that I should make an appointment with my doctor while I'm in BC to see what's wrong.

After a bit of sleuthing on the mayo clinic's website, I matched my symptoms (to the last detail) to a scaphoid fracture, after reading the following:

"Many sports-related injuries to the upper extremity involve a fall onto an outstretched arm. The navicular or scaphoid is a small, kidney bean-shaped bone located in the wrist just below the thumb which may be fractured during such a fall. The athlete frequently treats the injury as a sprain or bruise. A fracture results in an interruption of the blood supply and, later, bone death or necrosis."

Yikes. Looks like my summer of swimming might be cut short. Or, alternately, I could just ignore the pain and pretend I didn't realize that something might be wrong. I'll update after my doctor's appointment - for now, I need sleep, and the morning wake up from the disgruntled boyfriend (who is demanding a SALARY for being my alarm clock on week days) comes in less than 7 hours.

Mr. and Mrs. Smith

Every girl, I would recon, at one point in her life has made a list of qualities that she desires in the perfect boyfriend (and as you grow up, it becomes 'the perfect man'). When I was younger (14 or so) I wanted someone who wasn't a sloppy kisser, would hold my hand in front of his friends and would care about the things I liked. When I was in high school, I wanted someone athletic who was nice to his family and would remember that I really liked slurpees. I'm sure by the time I'm 30, my standards will be simple enough to include "relatively attractive, doesn't smell and has a steady job". But as a girl, something that is always somewhere in the back of your mind is the last name. Not quite as important as a sense of humor, but definitely up there along with sports team allegiance and favorite band.

A girl grows up knowing that along with finding and marrying the right man someday (or woman, or whatever, etc) - she also has the option of a new last name. I remember being as young as 5, and carefully printing out the name "Brianna Wheeler" on the inside of my notebook, inspecting it to see how it looked. Since David Wheeler, the blond hair, freckled boy who sat next to me in music had already asked me to marry him, I thought it was only appropriate. I would practice my new signature with my friends in junior high, because when you're in love for the first time, you ALWAYS think that it's going to last forever (because why would you ever want to leave the captain of the soccer team?). And I don't think this is unique to me - it's a widespread girl phenomenon.

My point, however, is that a bad last name doesn't bode well for an otherwise decent guy. For example, my mom fell in love and was engaged to Michael Dix, an englishman with two sons (one named Harry ... yes, I'm serious. Harry Dix). If they had gotten married, it would have been the Young-Dix wedding. And even more applicably, my ex-boyfriend (bless his heart, but still) had the last name Minshall, which I absolutely HATED. Don't ask me why, but the thought of going through life as Brianna Minshall made me buggy. It sounded so harsh! It's not to say that his last name is the reason it didn't work out between us, but there was nothing appealing about it. I guess when you have a last name like Johnson, you're eager to trade it in for something better -not eager in a Mary Anne Heppler kind of way, but still looking forward to it-. That's why my friend Max Summerlee and I had a good deal going: I would use him for his last name, and he would use me for my airline passes. Now there's a good deal if I ever heard of one.

And while we're on the subject of relationships, how many people out there have back ups? The tried and true friend who you've always had a little thing for, who you make a pact with along the lines that the two of you will get married if neither of you has found someone by the time you're, say, 30. I don't remember who mine is (although I think I've made a deal with Adam, at some point), but I DO remember a boy in high school who, we discovered at a sleepover, was the back up for 7 girls. We all 'dumped' him the next day.

Ahhh high school. I'm glad I'm not that inmature anymore ;)
Please forgive this indulgant dip back into puppy-love teenagerhood. Sometimes being an adult in a logical adult relationship isn't as much fun as being 16 and thinking you've found the one.

Celebration of Bugs

The opening night of Vancouver's biggest summer event, the "Celebration of Light" kicked off last evening in amazing style. The international fireworks competition got its start at 10:00 pm with Canada's performance, and will be followed by Sweeden on saturday, China next wednesday and the finale the following saturday. Last night more than 350,000 people lined up shoulder to shoulder at Kits Beach and English Bay (the downtown beach) to watch the 1/2 hour show, which was lit from a barge 500m away from shore. 350,000. I need to emphasize this point to you because I don't think it can be adequately stressed. When people talk about how big SARS-Stock was, and how the entire downtown core was sectioned off in TO a few summers ago, that's the same density that was lining up on a beach last night. It's an absolutely incredible sight to see (and the traffic is AWFUL).

This year, my mom and I decided to drive up to the North shore to watch the show from across the inlet. We picked up my brother and his girlfriend, drove out to the swankiest part of Vancouver and hiked down to the beach.


After parking ourselves (and after several failed attempts at trying to use my knees as a tripod to steady my camera) the show started. And you know what? It was really, REALLY small. I'm not usually one to claim that size matters, but in this case it was SO disappointing. When you go and see fireworks, you want them to explode in your chest. You want to lie down on the beach with the sand between your toes and watch the entire sky above you light up. You want to hold hands with someone you love and be reminded of how special they are. Case in point: here is a picture of the show last night, undoubtably taken from the English Bay beach.

Yeah - it's pretty spectacular. Like, it's actually the most beautiful thing I've ever seen and definitely worth the crowds. And just for comparison, here's a picture of a particularly large one that I took from our vantage point across the inlet.



















Pretty impressive, huh? That's what I thought. And in the end, my knees DID end up making a decent tripod (and of course in the set up, my brother casually mentioned that a girl or two had called him "tri-pod" in the past... thanks, Regan. I REALLY wanted to know that). But the punchline of my story is this: while we were sitting on the log, enjoying the show (as pictured below)

It so happened that I was attacked by a vicious storm of mosquitoes, and I wasn't even aware of it. In fact, I spent the entire night bragging about the fact that mosquitoes didn't bite me. I NEVER got bitten. I was motherfucking bite imMUNE.

And then, this afternoon, I happened to look down at my leg and was horrified to see this:
Gross, hey? And well worth it, if you'll refer to my spectacular shot above.

I'll write a more detailed entry later - I'm sailing (well, on a BC ferry) over to Vancouver Island tomorrow right after work and expect the ferries to be NUTS (almost like the high way to cottage country will be in Ontario). I'm gonna get there early, stake out a seat by the window, and blog my little heart out. Another weekend is almost upon us!

Fat Guts Gets Poked

Steve and I just got off the phone, after having had a conversation about the insanity of his friend Jon's mom (and I hope, now, that Jon will never lay eyes on this blog. Sorry, Jon, but your mom is scary). Steve mentioned that Jon's girlfriend must really adore him, because having a family like that would be hard to handle. I agreed - when you date someone seriously, and moreso when you make a commitment to another person, you're inadvertantly making a commitment to their family. As awful, wonderful or creepy as they are (honestly - who stays up until 3am just to make sure that their 25 year old son is tucked in?) - they become yours.

This just in. My family is WEIRD. I came home after a long day of work, and 4 hours later (I'm SO out of it), noticed the following scene taking place on my pillows:












In case you aren't familiar with the usual suspects, this here is a picture of Seth the Sloth (my beloved beanie baby) taking the anal virginity of Fat Guts, the long-distance representation of my boyfriend Steve. Fat Guts doesn't appear to be complaining about getting 'tail from a Sloth - he is quite comfortable stretched out with his face pressed into my pillow. My stuffed animals are big sluts and my mom is a total nut.

So I was thinking that this might be Steve's clue to start taking baby steps away from me and my filthy family. I can't imagine Marilyn Johns ever sneaking into Steves room and setting up lewd and suggestive poses of the Randy Moss and Daunte Culpepper figurines on Steve's bed. But then I remembered that my quote unquote 'normal' boyfriend prefers to pose for pictures in the following manner:












And I decided that he's probably not so normal after all. Look at how his little nose peeks out from his teeshirt! I think I'll keep him.

And yes, I'll write a normal entry, eventually.

To strive, to seek, to find and not to yield

I am rereading some of my favorite poems from when I was young. I used to say them out loud to myself, let the words play on my tongue as though they were composed of something tactile. I was so moved by it. I don't consider myself unique in this respect -- poetry in its creation speaks to a common need to understand/represent/beauitify the human experience. Loving poetry doesn't make me cool; but I do find in it something that I can't get anywhere else. Some sort of satisfaction. Some sense of knowing. One of my favorite poems is by Tennyson, called 'Ulysses'. I've posted the first and last sections below, mostly for myself, but if you love poetry as much as I do, then for you, as well.

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,T
hat hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vest the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honoured of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers;
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.

I am part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breath were life. Life piled on life
Were all to little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

....

Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in the old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are,
One equal-temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

- A.L.T.

Random Adventures in Photoblogging

Random Adventures in Photoblogging

Instead of posting a long winded update and considering that, at 2:53 in the morning the night is no longer young, I'm posting some random pictures taken over the last few days. Keep in mind that I've done NOTHING interesting and have a limited number of subjects to work with in my apartment. Nonetheless, I think the following pics explain my life in Vancouver better than I would ever be able to.

Other than that, I have NOTHING to say tonight that doesn't involve closing my eyes and mumbling in a way that might be understood as "blahblahblah", or "duuuuuuh", so I'll save the intellectual garble for tomorrow, and try to net myself some sleep

One Final Note: I don't ever use the word garble ... but you wanna know who does? A boy in grade 8 who had a crush on me, and wrote a letter to me that included the line, "this emotional garble is ruining hour after hour of our happiness together". Priceless. I can't believe I used to be a catch :D

One FINAL FINAL Note: I really need to write about the football game and football in general. Hold me to it - I've got a lot on my mind.

Regan and Fel

Regan and Fel
Originally uploaded by heybreezy.

My brother, in the shirt I bought him for his birthday (which turned out to be a big SCORE - he loves it) and his girlfriend of almost 3 years, Felicia

Orange football

Orange football
Originally uploaded by heybreezy.

This is my prize - a football that I climbed over seats, elbowed a guy in the head and begged the subway guy for. I actually went so far as to gravel to him in exchange for this sucker; I was DETERMINED. So much so, that when the Lions scored a touch down and the football guys came to our section, I screamed at my mom, "show them your tits!". And you thought I had class. Ha!

Waldo asleep

Waldo asleep
Originally uploaded by heybreezy.

My dog Waldo, who I freaking LOVE, sleeping on my bed this afternoon

Steve (???)

Steve (???)
Originally uploaded by heybreezy.

My cute boyfriend, who wasn't in the mood to have his picture taken. So I took one anyway

Cindee on the balcony

Cindee on the balcony
Originally uploaded by heybreezy.

This is my mom on the balcony last night, before her hot date with Bill (future lover? Soulmate? Who knows - she's seeing him again tomorrow night!)

Fat Guts

Fat Guts
Originally uploaded by heybreezy.

This is a picture of Fat Guts, the monkey that I bought to sleep with at night when I miss Steve (I created him in Steve's honour, complete with (shudder) a T.M.L. hoodie. Gag me :D)

back yard shot

Back Yard
Originally uploaded by heybreezy.

This is a panoramic picture that Regan took from our balcony

Four Years in Review

FOUR YEARS IN REVIEW

Class that I attended the most: Drama 237/238 (acting). If you skipped, you got thrown out of the course. Talk about incentive!

Class that I attended the least: Psychology 100. I didn't go in second term. Ever.
Runners up: Art History 110, French 100, Drama 306 (Canadian theatre)

Addresses that I lived at:
1. G20 Chown Hall
2. 295B William Street
3. 41 Toronto Street
4. 132-1 Earl Street
5. 294 Barrie Street

Best A&P Snack to buy at 2:00 am for all-night study marathons: bulk peach rings

Best songs to listen to while working at a Texas Grill:
- "Prop Me Up Beside the Jukebox When I Die"
- "No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem"
- "All My Ex's Live in Texas"

Surprise band that I am now a fan of thanks to said Texas Grill: Blue Rodeo

Best Summer Job: Head Gael (running a four day party and being paid 7000 to do it)

Worst Summer Job: Working at said Texas Grill

Amount of furniture that we fit into Alana's jeep during the summer after first year: one magiker bookshelf, three aneboda dressers and potentially a robin night table

Number of people I know, other than myself, who have pet names for their furniture: 1

Number of Flooded Basements due to Torrential Rain: 2 (oh MAN was that a mess)

Best Class: Drama 216, Musical Theatre. Most of our mark was based on a 30 minute presentation in which we were required to 'sell' a new musical. We outlined the plot, sang three songs and acted one scene. My group's choice? "Back to the Future: The Musical" (wouldn't that be cool?)

Worst Class: Canadian Studies 200. I'm not kidding - it was a beast. I didn't understand the professors, I hated the material and I hated the 3 hour night class each week. I have never had to motivate myself so much to get through anything as I did that year-long course.

Most Interesting House Memories:
- the theft of a random canoe, of the William/Aberdeen sign, of tulips from other people's gardens, of the virginities of high school students (not me, I swear!)
- Eating Nona sauce
- All nighters, puzzle parties, intentional cock-blocking, American Idol, the great Degu chase, the great garbage haul, our pet raccoon who ate popcorn

Housemates who I have heard having sex:
1. Natalie, who would moan loud enough that we would hear it over top of watching 'Friends' in the living room
2. Emily, who got such good tail that it was shaking the support beams in the basement, three floors below
3. Alana, who couldn't keep quiet (even though music was playing in her room, and in my room across the hall where I was working)
4. Josh ... did Josh ever have sex?
5. Dom, whose bed banged up against the wall that my desk was on. Apparently I wasn't the only one up at 3:00 am

Best Lines Exchanged Between Alana and I:
Alana: I'm from Oakville, I'm ignorant (first year, said to Marcus's jewish lab partner who walked into Alana's room to find us drawing a big jewish face in MS Paint on her computer, who we had named "Sol" and found a yamaka for)

Brianna: Don't worry about it ... like, no big deal, but if you have a second could you pull over? I'm about to throw up (while driving on the 401 in her dad's BMW)

House Rule that No One Followed but me: No sex in the shower

Best Restaurant meal: Woodenheads' Sorrento Pizza
Runner Up: The Copper Penny's Wild Mushroom Skillet

Best Place to feel really, really popular on a Friday night: The QP

A Bar that I've never been to: MyBar
A Restuarant I've never been to: Chien Noir
A Restaurant I've been to far too many times: Woodenheads

A Place Where Everybody Knows my Name: Send In the Clowns (the little old couple that owned the store were so nice that I couldn't help but to stop in and say hi every time I was in town)

Best Roadtrip: With Alana and Regan into Washington to try and find a crepe maker (success!)
Runner Up: With Marcus to see the Flames play the Leafs from the third row of the ACC
Runner Up: With Steve to Detroit, where I experienced both "Phantom of the Opera" and a crazy crack addict on the same day
Runner Up: The 7-hour drive into Northern BC with Marcus in order to go camping for one night (and the discovery of the Billy Goat trail)
Runner Up: To Montreal, with 400 Gaels that I was supposed to be in charge of

Best Musical Event: Seeing Hairspray with Steve and playing the "will I or won't I hold your hand" game that makes your stomach flutter and your palms sweat

Best Walkhome Partner: Steve Johns, on the 223 Nelson to Wallace Hall walk in which the conversation was entirely dominated between myself and said partner
Runner Up: Adam Say, who makes me laugh like no one else is able to that I wish the shift was twice as long

Best Orientation Memory: Too many to name! LFO night playing "Who-ah", playing touch football on the camping trip, the moment after the semi formal when I realized it was over (and couldn't stop crying), monday martinis with Lindsay Hardy

Worst Orientation Memory: Picking up our personalized, custom made and hand tailored yellow tuxedo jackets (which cost almost 1000 dollars) and realizing that the wrong names had been screened onto the back of ALL of them. I almost threw my desk chair at the print shop employee.

Best group of femininists to hang out with when I want to learn about alternatives to tampons: the cast of the Vagina Monologues (we had a mandatory menstruation WORKSHOP)

Saddest Moment: Finding out that my dog and best friend Polo had been put to sleep in Vancouver, just 1 week after I was home visiting for Frosh Week recovery

Happiest Moment: Finding out that I got Head Gael. I can't compare it to anything I've ever experienced before - I thought that my legs were going to fall out from underneath me.

Scariest Moment: Being hit by a dive-bombing bat in Theological Hall
Runner Up: When we found the ghetto bug in my closet on Toronto Street and were so scared that we called our housemate Josh in Ottawa to come and kill it for us

Roomate stolen by a Gang of Korean-Christians that I miss the most: Nahri Chi
Stolen (or "kept") article of Nahris clothing: black gap tank top
Best Nahri Memory: When she came home trashed, high and covered in vomit at 8am on the day we were supposed to move out of residence and she hadn't started packing yet
Runner Up: The moment she realized that she had purchased SO MUCH clothing since coming to Kingston that some had to be stored outside of our room in the hallway, locked in her HUGE red suitcases

Places that will always hold specific meaning to me:- The window table at Ban Righ cafeteria
- Wallace Hall (the choice study locale on campus)
- The Walkhome kiosk
- 244 Earl Street (where, in 3 years of dating one of its inhabitants, I probably slept 10 times, even though we spent every night together. Marcus's house was a HOLE)
- Jeffrey Hall (home of the Gael Interviews, and therefore 300 hours of my life)
- Tindall Field (where I watched a meteor shower with friends in first year)
- Grant Hall (home of the my Frosh Week speech)
- Traymoor Street (my place of work for almost two years with the crazy, crazy children I took care of)
- Bearance's Foods (the grocery store with the best fresh cut meats in Kingston)

Most Ironic Discovery: That current love-of-my-life Steve Johns didn't hire me for SOAR when I was in second year. In fact, he didn't even give me an interview :O

Number of boys I kissed: 3 (well - 3 that MEANT something)
Best Male Kisser: Steve Johns
Best Female Kisser: Alan the Italian Stallion (ummmm...)
Best Gay Kisser: Jon Metrick
Person I Wish I kissed: Grant Bishop


Places/People I will want to visit in 25 years: Chown Hall, the new Head Gael, Theological Hall ... I'm a simple girl, with simple pleasures!

Biggest Regret: No regrets, right? I regret that I spent first year in hiding (it sounds so cliche - 'I wish that I got involved right away'! I regret that I didn't have a real floor in first year; being on a pseudo floor made the three of us feel really lonely. I regret not trying out for the soccer team ... and god damn, if I could do it all over again, I would drag my ass out of bed and get to class. Other than that, the four years were wonderful. My whole life was wrapped up in that school and I am finding it difficult to unwravel myself and rediscover what's important to me outside the boundaries of Union and Princess, Wellington and Victoria. Four years wrapped up into one, neat little blog entry - who would have thought?

reflections on life in Vancouver

today (well, tomorrow if you count by sleeps) marks the one-week anniversary of my arrival back in Vancouver. Back home, although the concept takes on a new meaning when you're in your 20s and constantly uprooting and resettling your life. For now, I've got a bed, a place to store my laptop (the window-sill), some closet space in my mom's closet (she did a big spring cleaning) and a shelf to put my shoes on. I've got a dog to cuddle with, hundreds of cable channels and healthy home cooking. In all of these senses, everything is fantastic. I really, REALLY love being here.

Despite the fact that I feel safe and nested for the first time in quite a while, I've been in a constant state of unrest about a bunch of stuff, most of which is too mundane to really get into. Jobs for the remainder of the summer, what I'm going to do next year, paying off my debts, thinking about what I want from my future, how I'm going to afford to get there -- these are the types of things that become monsters to me. They weave and spin around in my head until I can't make sense of them anymore and I feel like crawling into bed until the world decides on an appropriate solution for me. The consensus so far? The world doesn't always work like that. So it's my goal this summer to redefine my goals. Figure out what I really want from the next couple of years, and develop a good plan. I want to work on my body and my mind (lots of reading and writing!) and my relationships with my family (*coughdadcough*). I want to figure out what I believe in. I hate being 22 and idealistic (Steve would probably point out that I'm not 22 for another 9 days, but I digress).

Ah - the upcoming birthday. Requisite phone calls from distant family members. Having my little Ukrainian grandparents sing "happy birthday" to me in their sweet, out of tune voices over the phone. Dinner with mom and Regan. Requisite dinner with my dad. It stops getting excited about about 13, doesn't it? Birthdays are a real sore spot for me. I had my last birthday party when I was 12, and since then (10 years!) I've tried not to tell people about it, not to make a big deal about it, not to expect any sort of celebration for it ... then I won't be disappointed if no one remembers, or if no one makes a big deal, or if we don't celebrate. And I like it that way. Maybe being at home for my birthday will be different; my mom and I can have a nice day together. But if it's not, I won't worry about it. There are always more birthdays to look forward to :D

This wasn't supposed to be a bummer post - but considering my recent lack of updates, the fact that I've got anything posted at all is a minor accomplisment in itself. Stay tuned for more episodes of my West Coast installment - I promise you, I'm figuring it all out. After all, I can't be an angsty teenager forever, can I?

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

all around me

I haven't even heard if I got the job in residence yet, but I'm so certain that I did well on the interview (and so anxious about what I would do if I *didn't* get the job) that I spent the better part of tonight picking out potential posters for my new suite. I know, I know - it's all imaginary. But the things that people choose to hang on their walls will tell you more about them than a 3-hour conversation. We can't help but to be reflected in what we choose to surround ourselves with. So without further ado (and hoping that the wait to hear from residence isn't going to kill me), here's my dream room(s):

The Music Room












The 'Everything Else' Room

the supernova relationship: a mid-year review

6 shows we attended together:
1. Mamma Mia
2. Wicked
3. Hairspray
4. Phantom of the Opera
5. Evita
6. Green Day

Cribbage Record: 20-19 (in a rare turn of events, Steve currently holds the lead)

6 amazing memories:
-Charity Ball. I’ve never seen him look so handsome and I’ve never felt so beautiful. We got dressed up to the nines, dominated the party and made a fashionable exit at about the same time everyone else was getting sloppy. This was also the night that I fell in love (or at least, the night that I realized it!)

-The first “I love you”. We were cuddling languidly, getting ready to watch “Singles” when he turned to me, took a deep breath and said, “what’s the statute of limitations on saying, “I love you”? My breath got stuck in my chest and I said, “are you …?”, to which he replied, “I love you, Bri”.

-The shoot-me-now anticipation of our date to see Hairspray. We both knew that we liked each other, we both were dressed to impress and when his hand brushed mine during the show, I thought I was going to explode.

-The first kiss, an explosive, can’t-get-enough-of-you plunge into a tailspin, dizzy, sexy marathon… we kissed for hours and hours and hours.

-Mornings together, lazing around in our pajama pants, watching Sports Net and reading the newspaper, passing the sports and A&E sections back and forth

-Our trip to see Phantom of the Opera, involving a fantastic 4-hour drive down to the States, getting lost in the Detroit ghetto, a scary run-in with a seemingly harmless crack addict, and the moment when the chandelier rose (the highlight of my first Phantom experience)

6 ways that we bond;
1. Playing cribbage.
2. Playing football and soccer on the field in front of his house
3. Bickering about … well, everything (what do you get when you put two stubborn, passionate people together in a relationship? Answer: bickering)
4. Making mix cds on itunes for each other (this is a big, big deal)
5. Making love
6. 6-hour msn conversations when we both should be doing something more productive

6 things that make me love him so much my chest gets tight:
1. The way he listens to me, unconditionally, without judgment and with all of his attention. If I have something on my mind, Steve always does everything he can to make me feel as though he understands.
2. Watching him play sports. There’s something so sexy about it; whether I’m sitting on the sidelines at one of his dodge ball games or watching the way he patiently tries to teach me how to throw a football (again), I’m overwhelmed and impressed with his natural athleticism
3. The fact that he is determined to help me be the best version of myself that I possibly can. He believes in me more than anyone has – whether he’s giving me advice on my grad school application or encouraging me to get back into soccer, or stroking my hair while firmly insisting that I can trust him: Steve is my biggest fan.
4. His blog. I’m reminded on an almost daily basis of how talented he is; if you haven’t been lucky enough to read it yet, check out his blog now.
5. The way he automatically moves over and wraps me up in blankets and a hug and kisses me on the shoulder when I come to bed late at night, even while he’s sleeping
6. How he knows every word to the original cast recordings of just about every show to hit Broadway in the last 20 years. Steve’s a bit shy, but I love to listen to him sing – he has an incredible voice.

6 things he is better than me at:
1. Having excessive sports knowledge (the guy is a veritable encyclopedia of facts, names, dates and other useless sports related trivia)
2. Playing the guitar, the drums and the piano
3. Writing essays, reviews, stories and songs
4. Taking fast showers
5. Navigating the Toronto subway system and successfully handling crazy and scary people.
6. Getting tickets to popular shows on ticketmaster.ca

6 ways that my life has changed as a result of him:
1. I wake up earlier in the morning and like to be in bed earlier at night
2. I eat more potatoes (his parents are British)
3. I feel more confident about living –and succeeding- in Toronto next year
4. I strive to be a better person in pretty much everything I do
5. I follow baseball
6. I can successfully throw a spiral football one out of ten tries

6 things I’m looking forward to:
1. The wedding in Thunder Bay that we’re attending. Not only do I get to see his home town and meet his childhood friends, I get to do so while being dressed up and sipping champagne. I’m a sucker for matrimony
2. Attending Pearl Jam together. The band that formed the basis of our first words to each other finally gets its moment in our collective history
3. Living in the same city. I can’t wait to be 12 (ish) subway stops away. We’ll spend more time together and we’ll also have a much easier job of balancing our relationship and the rest of our lives
4. Les Miserables. The show I’ve always wanted to see comes to Toronto this fall, and there is no one I would rather sit next to for the first time than Steve
5. Taking more trips together. New York City, Niagara Falls, Vancouver … who knows? I love to travel and I love to travel with Steve
6. Many more months of insane happiness. What can I say? I’ve found my partner in crime and I couldn’t be more glad.

wishing I had more rock n' roll fun

It's a good summer to be a music fan. Despite the fact that I missed both Weezer and Jimmy Chamberlin playing live this spring (the first due to an extraordinarily high price for a scalped single, the second due to bad timing), I'm scheduled to see Oasis, Sleater-Kinney, Pearl Jam and U2 in the next four months, and if I had the money, I would be buying tickets to the following acts without hesitation:

- The Rolling Stones (playing in the Skydome, with an as-of-yet-unnamed opening act that'll have to meet or exceed the standard set by either Gordon Downey or Eddie Vedder)
- Billy Corgan (playing music from his solo album, released next month. Is it worth the risk, given that the Smashing Pumpkins defined my musical existence from 1995-1998?)
- Ben Folds (My favorite artist .. or at least in heavy rotation in the top 5, along with the Pumpkins, Green Day, the Stones, Oasis, U2, Norah Jones, Pearl Jam and the Beatles)
- Beck (okay - this one is give or take, but I'd love to say that I witnessed the live performance of the man responsible for Odelay)
- Jann Arden (Sigh. I adore her - it's one of my more guily pleasures. But not 49.90+service charges guilty)
- Paul McCartney (again, enough said. This one defies reasoning, even if the ticket prices are through the roof)

Like - how does this happen? Sure, there's lots to do in Toronto, but when said FAVORITE MUSICAL ARTISTS OF ALL TIME are ALL coming this summer, how do I choose? If I played my cards right, the only member of my top ten left to see would be Norah Jones. The truth is, as much as I should be pumped to see Oasis, U2 and Pearl Jam, I'm in hardcore moping mode. Not so much about the smaller shows, but definitely about the Stones tour - I've got a feeling that even without officially announcing it, there's a sendoff on the horizon. And in these last chance situations, we always regret that which we did not do. If only I could put together money -any money- in time to buy the tickets.

There - I'm done whining. And if you happen to reside in a cardboard box on University, I'm incredibly sorry.

the apple doesn't fall far from the tree

My faithful reader(s?). I extend a sincere apology for the late abandonment of my blog. I love writing - I really do, but lately my moods have been changing as often as my plans for the future, and I've found myself swinging in and out of a pretty sorry-for-myself state; I didn't want to, or have the energy to come here and rant, share or even confide. I'm not sure if things are looking up for me right now, or if I'm just catching the tail end of a brief good mood, but I'm back, with a quick comment (and a review of the movie "Crash" coming tomorrow morning, I promise).

In the restaurant today, I sat a couple that had just flown in from Edmonton. After the requisite Oilers/Flames banter, the lady took a good look at me, and said, "say - I hope you don't mind me asking, but are you Eastern European?" And yes, it's true. I am. And I wasn't offended by the question or even taken aback. It's just not something that has ever been brought to my attention before. I didn't realize it was so profoundly obvious. But I've now had two specific questions about my heritage from total strangers.

So I was sitting in the staff room on my break, eating tortillas and honey (which I don't have to pay for) and I asked one of the managers, Drifter, if I looked different to him. After explaining what had just happened on the floor, he confirmed that both my bone structure and body shape were distinctly Ukrainian/Polish, etc etc. In essense, I've got a pronounced nose, a short frame and I tend to put on weight around the middle. I'm like one of those four foot eight babas, digging up root vegetables for the winte, my stout body wrapped in various pieces of fabric.

And you know what? It's not something I'm embarassed about. I'm proud to be ukrainian. I'm proud of my apple shaped body and my distinct nose and the way that people can tell from my body and my face where my ancestors are from. I'm proud to look like all of the women on my mom's side of the family.

God Bless Babas. G'night, everyone

running to stand still

I've been meaning to write an entry about my frustration with cover songs, after listening (again, I'll admit) to the Indigo Girls' cover the Dire Straits hit "Romeo and Juliet", which, besides being of incredible sentimental value to me, is also one of my favorite songs. And listening to the cover makes me mad, because the whole business of covering a song is inherently fraught with potential landmines. For example:

- When covering a song (like Fuel covering "Daniel", perhaps) is a band paying homage to an inspirational artist, or are they simply too lazy to write their own music?

-What changes when a female artist sings a song written by a man (for example, when Jann Arden covered "You Don't Know Me", which included the line "I watch you walk away, beside the lucky guy". The original song was about a woman, but Arden is allegedly gay. I'll leave that one up to you)

- In what circumstances is it okay to change the lyrics? In the Indigo Girls version of "Romeo and Juliet", the lead singer (I can't be bothered to look up her name) screams out "I can't do anything, but I'd do anything for you", instead of, "I can't do everything, but I'd do anything for you". Picky, I know. But it pisses the hell out of me.

- Also, who gives people the right to be idiots? Case in point: Ryan Adams recorded a cover of "Wonderwall" for an episode of "The OC" a couple of weeks ago. The next day in chapters, two teenagers (or in Steve's words, prostitots) were discussing how "beautiful" the song was. One girl went so far as to claim that "he's SUCH a good singer!" Fine. But the song was written by Oasis. In my humble opinion, if you're not old enough to remember WTSMG?, you're probably not old enough to be watching the shit that takes place on "The OC", but I digress.

That being said, at a show in San Jose, U2 pulled out a cover of "Hello", another Oasis hit, and I got really faint and tingly when I found out. Am I biased? Not necessarily. Over the course of the Vertigo tour thus far, they've also pulled out covers of the Who (I can see for miles), The Beatles (Blackbird), The Stones (Ruby Tuesday), David Bowie (Young Americans) and even Marvin Gaye (sexual healing). This is amazing.

My post, initially was going to be an inspired sermon on my born again Bono-ism. Whatever I was looking for, I found. For some reason, running through tour pictures, reading set lists and reminiscing has put me in an extremely good mood, all inspired by the fact that I wrote "it's a beautiful day" on the Lonestar driveway in sidewalk chalk today (it was). Dear Bono - I'm back. Dear Steve - I'm sorry.

Bright Lights, Big City II

Of all the people in Canada, I'm the last person who I would ever imagine hearing say the words, "Toronto's actually not that bad". Last Monday, I was sitting at a table with Eips and two other Calgarians (Jimmy and Dan Jacob) and she was lamenting on our supposed "western pride". People from the west not only manage to find each other with their western-canada equivelent to gay-dar, but they also are damn proud of it, too. That's right, I was born in the big city of Calgary, home of Peter's Drive In (with 30 milkshake flavours, it's worthy of it's own entry), the Calgary Stampede and my beloved Flames; an existance blissfully ignorant of things like OAC, subways, the "GTA" and Via Rail.

I'm not necessarily a stranger to the Toronto area, either. I spent a summer living in a classed-out condo in Mississauga (which had it's own bowling lanes ... also worthy of an entry!). I visited here frequently, from my friend Sunil's penthouse apartment on Queen's Quay, to trips home with Alana, to shopping days downtown. I never liked it. I was scared of the crazy people, overwhelmed by the traffic and disgusted by the smog
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But when my bus pulled into downtown yesterday, I found myself spotting familiar landmarks (the Kinkos on university, for instance). I can now confidently name at least 5 major Toronto streets, and can semi-confidently get myself from the University Campus to Union Station on the subway. I've been to a few baseball games, seen a dead body underneath a tarp at the Danforth GO station (I have a lot of catching up to do!) and shopped in Urban Outfitters. Tonight, if I felt like it, I could have seen the Black Crowes OR Sarah Mclachlan, watched at least 100 major motion pictures and eaten food from Thailand or Chile. And over the past few days, I've actually started to say to myself ... "Hey. Toronto isn't so bad"; in fact, there are parts of it that are just plain awesome.

Now I'll be the first to admit that it's not hard to like Toronto when the trees are blooming and people are walking their dogs in the park. And it doesn't really compare to the way I feel walking down Kits Beach near my dads house (see below) , or rollerblading on the Stanley Park Seawall, or what it was like to grow up a stone's throw from Banff ... But with my Don interview @ UofT in 9 hours, I'm starting to see Toronto as a place that I can call home - at least for the next 12 months.

a true teenage wasteland

Let me just reiterate before I launch into my latest rant, that you would be hard pressed to find a bigger slurpee fan in all of Kingston, nay- all of Ontario- than me. My high school was a stone's throw from a 7-11 and I would often stop there at lunch and after school. I was the Calgary Soccer Centre's biggest concession customer, etc, etc.

But that doesn't make me a blind follower, like the girl who works at my restaurant and will purchase and wear ANYTHING that comes from American Eagle, even if it is objectively ugly (hello - frilly mini skirts do NOT look good on people over the age of 14). But I digress. The point is, Macs has outdone themselves. If you trust yourself not to vomit, take a look at this advert for their new slurpee flavour and let me know if there is anything that would make you LESS sick to your stomach.

I understand the good intentions behind creative marketing. Why call it "7-UP grapefruit" when you can call it "Pink Pucker"? Even the "Swamp Water" option (which apparently is the Lime Flavour, although I always thought it was a mix of Orange Crush and Rootbeer), is not entirely unappetizing. But bloody zit? Associating an edible product with the most disgusting body function that I can think of is a sure fire way to make people throw up into their mouths, not to create a strong, positive impression.

If you're brave enough - go and check it out. Let me know what you think. In my opinion, there had to be something better to name a Cherry-Coke slurpee. But what do I know? I'm just a lonesome ranter.

In the words of Oscar Wilde

"Dreamers can find their way by moonlight, and their only punishment is that they see the dawn before the rest of the world"

I'm never going to stop the rain by complaining

I've been really sad lately. Because of this, I've done a lot of inward thinking. As introspective as I've become, however, I've been equally apathetic about my blog, as well as things like getting out of bed before noon, changing out of pajama pants or answering phone calls. I am so sad. I think, though, that it might be good to talk about it - not to try and hide it from myself. Whether or not people read this blog is irrelevant - the fact that it's here, however, and not inside of me anymore is really important. So indulge me, if you feel like it. I've got a lot on my mind.

Sometimes I think that everything could be so simple. When I look at the world around me, I see a million shades of gray - subtle nuances and details that are useless to dwell upon, but likewise equally fascinating. I love to think. I love time by myself to not have to be anyone for anything. I don't know where I'm going with this, but I know that there has to be an easier, less tormenting way to live than to be a thinker, or a dreamer, or whatever label I casually try on. Like, it doesn't have to be this much of a struggle all the time, does it?

I need three things to be happy. A place where I feel home, people who love me, and inspiration. I don't know how to find this. I don't know how to get along without it.

My family is coming out in June and instead of being excited about celebrating my graduation, I'm anxious and upset and guilt ridden. My dad will be here for 5 days, which isn't that important except that I haven't EVER been able to spend more than 5 consecutive hours with him before breaking down. My grandparents want to take me out for dinner, my mom is going to be alone, and I'm going to be working full time on top of it. I can't take the idea that everyone is going to be looking to me to please them, when it's supposed to be my happy day.

When have I ever asked for the indulgence to be selfish?

I'm sad because I'm lonely. I'm sad because things are changing. I'm sad because I'm homesick. I'm sad because I've let people down. I'm sad because I don't feel beautiful. I'm sad because I don't know where my path is. I'm sad because I wake up in the morning and worry about money. I'm sad because I don't know how to make myself happy.

So tomorrow, I'm going to do what I can. I'm going to write about things I'm grateful for. I'm going to do yoga when I wake up. I'm going to see a movie with a friend. And I'm not going to indulge in being sad -- I'm sick of letting myself feel this way. I have so much to be happy for right now.

And, by the way, I actually feel a little bit better. Thanks for listening.

-b

come pick me up, I've landed

I've lived in a lot of places over the past four years. What started as a settled family of three in a comfy bungalow in south-western Calgary with wood panels and shag carpeting in the basement became a cross country adventure that included:

- a one-floor, three-room doll apartment that me, mom, regan and three dogs crammed into in spring of 2001. 2 other girls shared the house with us but lived in the basement. Our computer and desk, kitchen table and chairs, TV and couches were all crammed into a room smalller than my current bedroom.
- living with my grandparents in Vancouver when we first moved there (I slept on the couch)
- a townhouse in Port Coquitlam which we affectionally called "the fishbowl", because everyone in the complex knew everyone else's business
- a large, ground floor study room that became my dorm for 8 months, shared with a girl from Kewlona named Nahri who liked Audrey Hepburn and Hello Kitty
- The basement suite on William and Aberdeen, where I painted my tiny little bedroom sky-blue, and raw sewage leaked through the ceiling of our kitchen into waiting pots below
- Michael Dix's house on Vancouver Island, a stone's throw away from a secluded beach where I loved to visit and write in my diary
- 41 Toronto Street, my first real 'house'. We had a driveway, a barbeque, a real back yard with trees and lilacs and flowers, a fake fireplace that would expell heat from the furnace when you jiggled the wires right, and a family of mice that we couldn't trap all of, no matter how many we caught (fast breeding, we think)
- The 7th floor bachelorette pad that my mom moved into last year (in the same building as her parents!)
- 132 Earl Street. Gorgeous (GORGEOUS) house. Crazy landlord. Even crazier housemates
- My present location (294 Barrie) which is close to the grocery store, clean enough, cheap, and allows me to play 8-bit nintendo whenever my little heart desires.

My point is, doing all of this moving has made me realize the subtle difference between the meaning of house and home. 'House' is my walls, my shower, my fridge and my bed. House changes as I change and I'm sure it will continue to change as I move into the different stages of adulthood. Home, however, is a feeling. It needs no walls, no front lawn, no bedroom (although it may certainly be these things). Home, for me, is when Steve meets me at the bus station and envelops me in a giant hug. Home is when I'm reading to my sisters. Home is where I feel safe and loved.

I like the idea that with Steve, I'm home. That's the only place I need to be.

Febreeze

Besides from being my nickname in high school, febreeze is the god-loving stuff that really works. Every day after my shift, I take my uniform down to the basement, hang it from one of the water pipes and spray the hell out of it. The next morning, it's clean, softly scented and retains no fajita residue. No, seriously - I come home every day smelling like a mexican border jumper.

I was spraying last night, and was reminded about another Febreeze incident. When my soccer team and I used to travel to tournements, we would often play three games a day and wouldn't have time to clean our uniforms between matches. And we weren't girlie soccer try hards - we sweat, got really dirty, and smelled like a boys changeroom after every game. Especially when it was raining outside. So we would all pile into one hotel room, lay out our socks and kits, and take turns febreezing them and sticking hairdryers inside to try to dry them off for the next game. It's funny what kind of random memories you hang on to, hey? I haven't thought about soccer tournements in years.