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.

My Four-Legged Friend

This is a video called "Waldo Takes it To The Bear" (and hopefully posting it here is successful!) The bear is a stuffed animal named Jasper that was a gift to my mom from her ex-husband ... when he split, the bear became Waldo's hump buddy. We like to think that they're friends with benefits. Waldo tends to hump Jasper at the most inappropriate times; when company is over, or if two people are snuggling romantically on the couch. It's a riot - he could hump for hours.

So without further ado, here is my adorable dog Waldo, taking it to the bear.

Victoria

I flew into Victoria, BC last night and am spending the day at my grandparents house on the tip of the North Saanich peninsula before catching a ferry back to the mainland tonight. Today my dad and I took a long hike through the backwoods and I got an overwhelming feeling of gratitude. I am SO thankful to be in such a wonderful place ... both right now (I love BC) and in my life.

I've had a few soul searching conversations lately that will probably spin off into a blog entry or two, but for the time being, here are some pics from this afternoon.

Felicia (my future-sister-in-law, I'm sure!) and me

DSC00211
Originally uploaded by just bri.

Me and my brother Regan

DSC00212
Originally uploaded by just bri.

Happy to be in BC!

DSC00215
Originally uploaded by just bri.

Procrastination makes it happen

I made a pact with the big guy that if I got into Teacher's College at U of T this year, I wouldn't pull a single all-nighter in a desperate attempt to get an assignment done the night before it was due. And I really plan on standing by this - I mean, he made good on his promise to me; it's the least I can do in return.

That doesn't mean, however, that the dirty habit of procrastination doesn't still live inside of me.

Two weeks ago, a tiny red flower in my neighbor's yard pushed its way out of the cold, frozen, barren, toxic Toronto soil. I was in awe, as I am every year, of the amazing power of nature; how things grow and survive in the strangest little worlds. Every morning, I would greet my tiny red little friend, growing alone in a garden that still appeared to be in winter mode. I decided that I would photograph the flower as the first sign of spring, post it in my blog, and continue to make posts as tulips and weeds and daffodils began to bloom in the houses on my street. A photoblog on spring.

Now, two... maybe three weeks later, ALL of the flowers, trees and plants are in full bloom. The red flower has died, already completing its miniature life cycle. And I still haven't taking a single freaking picture. It might as well be winter again for all I care, because I just can't seem to live up to my own big plans. Please just imagine how nice my little street is now with green buds on all the trees and floppy daffodils in every front yard, and imagine what a total reject I feel when I leave my house every morning, sans camera, and walk by all these plants that I planned on photographing. And if the plants aren't mocking me, well - I'm sure you will be.

Maybe next spring, I'll get around to those pictures :)

An Honest Day's Work

I will be going home in a few days ... not home to Calgary (which is where I was born and lived for 18 years). Not "home" in Toronto (which is slowly starting to feel that way) but home to Vancouver, where my family is.

Last year, my mom, brother, dad, step mother, two sisters, an aunt and my grandparents all lived in Vancouver. Now, with my dad on Vancouver Island, my sisters and step-mom living in Calgary and my brother and his girlfriend making their own move to Calgary, I'm not sure if I can define Vancouver as my home anymore. I feel stuck between 4 or 5 possible worlds and don't know how to reconcile them.

Either way, it's off to Victoria on Sunday, and then taking the ferry across to the mainland on Monday. I am genuinely excited to be going back; Vancouver is literally a breath of fresh air, and far and away my favorite city in the world (although I've probably only been to 20 or 30 of them). I love the way it smells in the morning - like earth and worms and water. I love driving on the hilly little roads that wind along the coast. I love the ferrys. I love feeding the ducks in Stanley Park and kayaking in Deep Cove. I love that the pavement is black and smooth - no frost to crack it and fade it. I love driving in the rain and the plants and moss that grow everywhere. Every place I've ever lived has a little bit of a 'home' feeling for me, but I've never felt attached to a city like the way I do with Vancouver.

And then when I get back (to the real world, I suppose), I'll be starting a new job working at the Canadian National Exhibition, doing all of the hiring and HR work for the 600 employees that they hire for the charity casino. It's like being Head Gael, but with card dealers instead of Gaels and poker chips instead of frosh! I can't wait; if there's one thing I want to do this summer, it's make money to prove I'm still the successful one in my family, rather than the dud I've been written of as :)

Stick It

You may have heard of the new gymnastics movie coming out on April 28th called "Stick It" ... or then again, you may not have. It didn't even register on my radar until I heard from my mom that my cousin Nicole (who was born 3 months before me and was my unstoppable best friend while growing up) is cast in it! She's been an elite gymnast her whole life, and was offered a part in the movie playing a member of the US-National Team.

So obviously I'm gonna to see the movie ... and probably squirm in my seat and yell out "That's Nicole!" every time I see her. If only I could have accomplished so much in my 22 years :)

Nicole - I'm proud of you, even if your movie debut happens to be in a stupid teen-flick. I think you're amazing (I may even be jealous- one of the stars of the film is Vanessa Lengies, who was in the show "American Dreams" ... which Alana and I LOVED, and who happens to be Canadian!)

Here's a pic of my mom, her sister (my Aunt Daria) and the more famous member of my family. For more info, go to http://stickit.movies.go.com/

As Bad As I Want To Be

I'm not sure if I should be repeating any of this in a semi-public venue, but it was almost too good to keep to myself. Here's the story, and I'll keep it brief.

Background information: I'm a bit of a weenie. I've always been the one to run behind my friends and say, "guys, are you sure this is a good idea? Aren't we gonna get in trouble?" Whether it was making bike jumps with my brother or getting drunk during 4th period spare ... I chickened out, terrified of somehow being discovered as anything other than the perfect child. I've always been good. I've never stolen anything, smoked anything, been horribly drunk or basically, according to some people, had any fun in my life.

So tonight I go out with three other girls from work for Greek food and drinks on the Danforth (I've also never gone out for Greek food - seriously. But that's beside the point). When Michelle and I show up to meet the others, we find our boss sitting at the table (our 40 year old BOSS!). Apparently she ran into one of the girls downtown and invited her for a glass of wine, which ended up being almost 4 bottles by the time we arrived at 7:30. In short, my boss and two of my co-workers were shitfaced at a very nice restaurant where being shitfaced is probably not very attractive. I ordered a Diet Coke, mostly because I'm too broke to drink. My boss proceeded to tell me I was like a "kindergarten teacher", needed to "loosen the fuck up" and "fuck some guys". In my honour, she took it upon herself to open a bar tab for the table and supply me with as many drinks as I could polish off over dinner. I got called out - my own boss was calling me a goodie-goodie. A girl I worked with told me that she thought I would be "so fun" to get drunk with. Not wanting to be too 'good', I start drinking.

Fine. Fast-forward one hour. My boss is drunk, my friends are drunk, I'm quickly getting out of control. Our poor waiter has fielded slaps on the bum and questions about his sexual history and preferences from our embarrassingly loud table. We finish dinner, all paid for by my boss. Then things start to get sketchy.

She suggests that we all go down the street to a bar called "Jilly's". "Sure, I think. This is a great idea. Let's go to a bar called Jilly's." It's 9pm, I can barely walk straight, I have NO idea where in Toronto I am and I don't have any money. If I had lived in Toronto longer, I might have known that "Jilly's" is actually a seedy, disgusting strip club with old women who have pancake boobs and back rolls dancing onstage, and the men have greasy hair and wear trench coats and touch themselves underneath the table. At some point, I call Steve on the phone and yell to him "I think we're going to a strip club!" (which his mother, sitting next to him heard ... but that's another story).

We're ushered in. I'm literally scared. I start to wish that I was curled up in my PJ's reading a good book. Everyone has another drink. At this point, I have no idea who's paying for any of this anymore. My boss, without any warning, announces that she's better looking than the dancers who work there, climbs up onto the stage and starts to STRIP OFF HER CLOTHING. I see boobies. I start to worry that we're in trouble. She argues with the bouncer that she "can't control herself when Barry White music is played" ... she promptly gets kicked out of the club. The atmosphere is getting tense here, folks. My girlfriend and I head to the bathroom, where two strippers are smoking up. I decide to hold my pee, or wet my pants. 20 minutes later, my drunk boss resurfaces with another server from the restaurant I work at (I have NO idea where she found him), and he, apparently, has brought cocaine with him. Like, seriously. Cocaine! I start shaking. Off they go to the bathroom to do a line, and I immediately have this conversation with myself:

"Self, this is very, very, very bad. We are going to get in trouble. Good girls don't hang out in strip clubs with coke heads. Especially not 40-year-old drunk boss coke head strippers. I am good, and this is bad."

Game over - my girlfriend and I mumbled our thanks and some lame excuse that we had somewhere to be, make our way to the subway, and wondered what work is going to be like tomorrow night. Awkward? Embarrassing? Funny?

The moral of the story is this: I really am more straight-laced than I thought, and I'm totally fine with that. I like having movie nights, going for walks in the evenings, playing with dogs and spending afternoons in chapters. I feel like there's a whole underground world out there that I'm both not invited to and not interested in; if that's what it means not to have any fun in my life, well I guess I'll take it. I've never been so happy to be me as I was tonight. Boring, frumpy, head-on-straight me; who would have thought being good could be so nice?

Project Earth

If you have a spare minute or two, head over to http://www.squarepeople.com/, and check out their Project Earth endeavor, which can be accessed by clicking on the link on the left-hand side of the page.

Basically, Project Earth is going to be a mosaic of 50,000 user submitted photos, used to create a map image of the earth. If you've ever seen a photo mosaic before, it's pretty phenomenal. If not, definitely go and look for yourself. They just started up and are looking for 50,000 individual contributors to email 1 photo each of anything you want to send them. Email yours in and pass the word on - you'll be part of the biggest collaborative art project in history (which, by itself, is pretty cool!)

Spring Fever

Could I BE any happier?
(Said, like Joey in friends, "Could I BE wearing any more clothes?")

One good thing happens, and all of a sudden my life starts to snowball in the right direction. My bills are paid. I got into teacher's college. I've been getting stellar interviews for summer jobs. My capri pants from last summer still fit. My new sandals don't give me blisters. I'm making fantastic friends at work and going out with them on a regular basis. My boyfriend and I are completely thrilled with each other. The streetcar always comes exactly when I need it to. My new hair cut and colour (see below)

are actually working out terrifically. My laundry is done (could I express to you how amazing it feels to have 20 pairs of socks to choose from? 30 clean and folded pairs of underwear?). I haven't lost ANYTHING in at least a month (knock wood). I don't know what I did to finally deserve some good karma, but I find that spring has brought with it so many welcome changes and exciting things.


I'm looking forward - right now, mostly to the summer. Here's a list of things that I want to do this summer; honestly, I can't wait. Steve and I may even be making our first trip of the year to the zoo to see the monkeys next week. Appearentely they're frisky in April!

THINGS TO DO, PLACES TO GO, SIGHTS TO SEE THIS SUMMER:

1.Kensington Market

I've never really taken the time to browse the market, and am really looking forward to going this summer on a regular basis

2.Canada's Wonderland

Put a roller coaster freak in roller coaster central, Canada ... and you have a very good day my friend. Steve and I are DEFINITELY going before school gets out - otherwise the lineups make it not worthwhile.

3.Niagra Falls

I just feel that as an Ontario-ite (Ontarian?) I should see this Canadian landmark sometime before I'm 30 and too old and jaded to care

4.Ontario Badlands

I went here quite a few times with Marcus and his family, and had SO much fun. These little mounds are bigger than people! It's the coolest place to play hide and seek.

5.Toronto Zoo

Monkeys and Lions and Hippos! (Oh my!)

6.Stratford Festival

I'm a drama major ... and I've never been. I know, I can hardly believe it myself. I want to see "Oliver", "South Pacific" and "Much Ado About Nothing" ... I'll probably have to hit them all in one weekend, but I'm not complaining!

7.Lunch and a Swim

Wanna know something cool? If you buy lunch at the Holiday in on King Street, you can swim in their rooftop pool for free afterwords. It's an awesome program and right across the street from my job. Guess where all the hostesses are going to be spending saturday afternoons before work?

8. Kayaking Toronto Islands

One of my favorite memories was of kayaking in Deep Cove, BC - hopefully I can find the same sort of experience in urban Ontario.

9.Toronto Climbing Gym

I was a 'rockhead' in junior high and high school - we had a local rock climbing gym and I was always in when I had time, working out on the walls. I can't wait to get back into it - and drag Steve with me as a belaying partner!

I'm sure there are more adventures all over the place in Toronto, and my goal for the summer, without going completely broke, is to try as many of them as I can. Any suggestions? Did I miss something awesome? Let me know!

-B

4 Questions on Musical Taste

One Song I Hate to Admit That I Like:
Sheryl Crow "All I Wanna Do"

Two Songs That Always Make Me Cry:
1. Pearl Jam "Last Kiss"
2. Jeff Buckley "Hallalujah" My dad played this for me in his car a few years ago while we were driving at night time to the ferry, and I found it so overwhelmingly aching, I started to bawl.

Three Songs (Okay, Four) I Would Dance To At My Wedding:
1. Ella Fitzgerald "At Last"
2. Neil Young "Harvest Moon"
3. The Beatles "In My Life"
4. Harry Connick Jr. "It Had To Be You"

Ten Songs I Can't Live Without:
1. The Kinks "Victoria"
2. The Rolling Stones "Beast of Burden"
3. Johnny Cash "I Walk the Line"
4. Tom Waits "Time"
5. Dire Straits "Romeo and Juliet"
6. Green Day "Welcome to Paradise"
7. Jann Arden "Good Mother"
8. Bob Dylan "It Ain't Me Babe"
9. U2 "Wild Horses"
10. Smashing Pumpkins "Tonight, Tonight"

The Most Important Thing

I've been thinking lately about relative importance; about what we assign value to in our lives and why. Take me, as an example. I have a room full of books, jewelry, posters, warm blankets, photographs of friends and dvds ... my things. Being in my room makes me feel safe and happy - each thing I own has its own story of conception, its own meaning attached to it, to create a room full of good memories and important icons. But even more importantly, I think, I surround myself with things that are special to me because they help me to define who I am. My taste in books and music, the color I choose to paint my walls (pale, pale pink), the pictures I chose to display, help me to place myself and centre my identity. In that sense, I suppose, I am what I own.

But in reality, I think I could live without most of my things. The photographs could fall apart but I would still have the memories of when they were taken. The books have been read. The movies could be rented. I don't need rings and earrings and make up and stuffed animals to survive. And really, I would still exist, my personality would remain intact, without creating something tangible out of it. Sometimes I get scared that I'm going to disappear, and I convince myself that my things ground me ... keep me actual. As though someone could walk into my room and acertain that someone does, in fact, live and breathe and love and feel and exist here.

What am I getting at, exactly? Firstly, that I've become, or maybe have always been, dependant on what I own. Materialistic, to a certain extent, although not in the label-whore, big screen TV kind of way. I haven't had much money this month, so I haven't really been buying anything - no mascara, no new movies, no spring clothes, no books to read or picture frames or boxes to store things in. It's been refreshing, not to feel the need to own anything else. Or, well - not to give in to the urge to own anything else. I've realized that I could cut my wardrobe into 1/4 and still survive. All that is really important to me in my life, REALLY important, could fit into a small box.
My computer. My high school grad ring. My framed picture of me and Steve. My glasses. The necklace my dad gave me when I gave my valedictorian speech. My diaries. My stuffed monkey. Everything else is sort of extra.

When I raise kids, I can hopefully raise them to value experiences more than they value belongings. I don't want them to have 15 rooms full of toys, or closets full of clothes that they grow out of before they wear. I hope that I can learn, so that I can teach them, to give to others, and to define your personality by how you treat other people, rather than what you own. It's something that I've been working on, and slowly but surely am getting better at.

Sorry about the rambling - lot on my mind
(and for those of you left wondering, I *did* get in to Teacher's College at U of T, so you can all give up your hopes of me becoming a travelling drama hobo)

Take Me Out To The Ball Game

Dear God,
I really want to be a teacher. I know I haven't always been the best student, I promise everything will change if I get just ONE more chance. If you let me get into U of T, I promise that I will never wait until the absolute LAST night before an assignment is due to start it. I will not skip class for any of the following reasons: my bed is warm. My alarm clock is too far away from my bed to bother to set it for the morning. I was up late looking at dogs on the internet. My housemate wants to play MarioKart. My jeans aren't clean enough to wear out. I will also not tell teachers I was feeling sick, when in fact I was too lazy and comfy to get out of bed. Thank you cordially for your time and attention. Bri Johnson.

It's 5:30 in the morning and I can't sleep: teacher's college results are posted online in a mere 2.5 hours, and I would rest much easier knowing that I had a future. So I've been knitting, cutting pictures out of magazines, writing emails to high school friends, and now -well, posting pictures on my blog. The world moves so slowly at this time of day, where it's not really still night, but not quite morning.

Anyway - on to my original task. Tonight was a lot of fun. Along with my boyfriend and two fine gentlemen that we know (okay, okay - Andy and Kevin), I went to the home opener of the Toronto Blue Jays tonight at the Rogers Centre. Instead of talking about it - because even though I love going to baseball games, I don't really know enough about the players or the sport to comment- I'll just post my pictures from the night and let them speak for themselves. Basically we've got a bunch of people playing baseball, and a goofy pic of me and Andy taken in the 6th inning. Enjoy!

Queen's Doesn't Want Me for a Sunbeam

Today, in my opinion, was D-Day: letters of admission and rejection were sent out from ontario universities for their B.Ed programs, and I was one of the 14,000 people awaiting a big fat package signalling my success. Instead, when I ran around the front of the house to the mailbox, all that was waiting for me was a single, solitary, small envelope from the Faculty of Education at Queen's.

Dear Miss Johnson,
I am writing in connection with your application for admission to the Faculty of Education at Queen's University to inform you, with regret, that it is not possible to offer you a place at the present time... blah, blah, blah, blah.

Hmmm. I'm not even sure if Queen's would have been my first choice, but it would have been nice to know that my Alma Mater (where I graduated with f'ing honours) had a place for me in their hearts and their programs should I ever choose to return. It's the sort of thing that I can't pretend to understand, so I'm not going to think about it. Focus now shifts to the University of Toronto - essentially my last hope. If I don't get in there, I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do with my life, but I certainly won't be happy about it.

The s*** hits the fan tomorrow morning at 8:30, when U of T posts their results online. Stay tuned, and please - keep your fingers and toes crossed for me. For the first time, I'm a little bit scared.

This Place in Time

I guess I'm sorry for the lack of meaningful content here lately. I mean, I AM sorry, but I guess it hasn't been too meaningful. Truth be told, I haven't really been thinking lately, if that makes any sense at all to you. In fact, I haven't really be doing much of anything. It hasn't been that bad. I sleep in (working nights is an great way to excuse sleeping until noon every day), I read my emails. Sometimes I watch TV. I do laundry, and most nights, I go to work at the restaurant. While at work, I greet people, call reservations and basically stand around in my black skirt and black tank top, looking pretty.

It's been a really rough month. I've been going to the dentist 2 or 3 times a weeks and it's reached the point that when I'm not working or otherwise engaged in something I've committed myself to, I'm sleeping off the pain in my teeth. I hurt, I take drugs, I sleep. I don't even know if I'm tired anymore - it often just seems like a good way to pass the time before I can go to the dentist again. It's been a month since he started working on my teeth and I possibly only have 1 root canal to go before I'm officially done. I'm not sure; my dentist called me on my CELL phone today to tell me that my pain may be the cause of "nerve damage", but said "don't get scared - we'll just talk about it on Monday". This warrants a cell phone call? It must not be very fun to be a dentist. I'm not particularly found of mouths, and after what MY teeth have put me through lately (1300.00 of work in 3 weeks!) I'm not fond of them either.

So the point, or the lack of a point, is this: I've merely been existing. I haven't felt especially inspired or completely depressed. My emotions have been lackluster at best. All of my relationships (my life in general, really) have been uneventful. I haven't felt motivated or compelled to do anything, much less write about it. I hope that the start of a new month helps me to wake up. I really need something to be excited about right now.

While I was sleeping (literally), Toronto itself sidestepped into pseudo-spring; 5 glorious weeks where the weather peaks in the mid teens during the day, but the ground remains barren, the trees leafless, and garbage is all over the streets after being covered in snow for 3 months. It's not pretty, but it's reviving and refreshing. It's not sandal weather, but my cheeks don't hurt from the biting wind anymore, and I've retired my green ski jacket to the back of the laundry room. This is something, at least. It's nice to know that from here on in, the world is going to get a little warmer and a little greener every day. It always gives me something to look forward to when I wake up in the morning. And for someone who has simply been existing, this is ... well, like I said - it's something.

An Amazing Discovery

I have found the COOLEST website. Head over to www.pandora.com, and type in the name of your favorite musical artist. Go ahead, try it. The website will start streaming songs for you to listen to, which are similar in quality to the artist you love. You can tell them "yes, this is great!" or "no, this isn't what I had in mind", and they'll adjust the stream accordingly.

For example, I typed in Oasis, one of my favorite bands. The Oasis "station" began with Pearl Jam's "I Got ID", followed by the Verve "Slide Away", Blind Melon "Paper Scratcher" and The Kings of Leon "The Bucket". I heard a song or two that I didn't like as much (can anyone say Fugazi?) and they took them out of the station and played songs more similar to ones that I told them I liked.

It plays the whole song, top quality, and gives you the chance to buy the song on itunes. The whole set up is free, and you can create upto 100 different 'channels' to listen to.

AMAZING!

I've been telling myself for a while that I should be discovering new music - this just might be the way to do it.

www.pandora.com

V for Vendetta

I saw the movie "V for Vendetta" tonight, and while not overwhelmingly moved by the plight of the masked terrorist, I was compelled to think critically about the world around me, and was relieved to find that even though I've been out of school for a year, I'm still capable of being smart.

What struck me most, besides the obvious parallels to Bush's war on terror and the effectiveness of fear as a tool of governance, was the eventuality of disaster. What a morbid thought. Does it ever occur to you though, that there are unavoidable things in our collective future ... murders, plane crashes, terrorist attacks and natural disasters, that will become a part of our children's memory ... that we can't even predict? I can map my life by these events in my past, remember the exact moment that the world focused their eyes on one particular event or the next. I remember as early back as the Oklahoma City bombings, the death of Princess Diana, the Los Angeles earthquake, the exact moment that O.J. Simpson was pronounced Not Guilty. I remember TWA flight 800. The Colombine shootings. When Elizabeth Smart was abducted. The oil rigs burning in the Gulf War. When the planes hit the WTCs. The tsunami of 2004.

It makes me wonder what sort of monumental events are waiting for us in the future. Perhaps there are positive landmarks as well; maybe we will cure cancer or treat aids, or find a way to abolish famine. Maybe we will blow up a meteor on its path to earth. Maybe we will have fresh drinking water or learn to produce no garbage. But there is an eventuality to the world; everything that can happen, will happen - in time. V for Vendetta is both a comment on our current state of political affairs and a desperate warning on the possible social landscape of the future. To me, it felt like a reminder that we will all suffer personal grief in our time. I am thankful, therefore, for today: sunny, carefree and safe. Hopefully more of the world can say the same in the future.

That Was Rewarding

I've been an avid member of the Shoppers Optimum and the Airmiles Reward Miles bandwagons for at least the last 6 years or so. It makes sense, right? You earn points for spending money at places you're probably already going to spend it, and redeem them for rewards at a later date. I've already gotten a 75$ shopping spree from Shoppers and lots (lots!) of movie gift certificates from Airmiles (which doesn't really matter now that I'm banned from Blockbuster, now does it?)

Tonight, because I'm sick with the flu and can't sleep, I joined the HBC rewards program. It looked good - 50 reward miles for every dollar I spend at the bay. Yahoo! But then I checked out the rewards:

Get this. If I wanted to get a 14 piece knife set, I would need to redeem 1,200,000 points ... the equivelent of spending TWENTY FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS at the Bay. Or Zellers. That's kind of pointless, don't you think? I mean, I buy my bras and underwear there, but that's gonna take freakin' years. I'm kind of depressed, actually. I don't even need a knife set.

Thoughts on Relationships

I read something interesting in Reader's Digest last week while I was at the dentist's office waiting to get the last of my teeth drilled into. Apparently, something like 50% of Canadians are playing the weekly lottery, hoping that their winnings will provide them with the adequate funding necessary for retirement. That's an amazing number. What's more amazing is the following: if a Canadian took the $4.00 they spent each week on a lottery ticket and invested it into a low-risk stock portfolio or into a high-interest RRSP for, say, 30 years, they would have close to ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND dollars saved up by the time they retire.

That's probably more than any of them are going to win on the lottery.

It got me thinking about relationships. A lot of people I know, myself included, believe in 'soulmates' - that one person who is so insanely perfect for us that God himself must have decided that they were the one. So we're all sitting around, waiting for our proverbial love-of-a-lifetime to come into our lives and sweep us off our feet... sort of the same way someone might buy a lottery ticket, waiting for the win of a life time to take care of them for the rest of their life.

But what if we took what we had instead; our not-necessarily-perfect, but loving, smart and kind significant others, and invested in them. Took the time we spent waiting around for Mr.Perfect and dedicated it into our Mr.Imperfect. A small investment - a card written, a gift purchased, a back rub at the end of a long day, or even just simple words- over a period of 30 years ... well, you might get your soulmate after all.

Ultimately, I believe that a life-long monogamous relationship doesn't exist between two people who are a perfect match, or who were 'destined' to be together, but two people who (despite their flaws and imperfect edges) love each other enough to commit to the investment. People who will put in the time and the effort, week after week, to make it work. I think that you can create the perfect relationship slowly, and that each time you listen instead of making an assumption or aim to be kind instead of being right, or do something for the other person without expecting anything in return ... well, you'll be a rich man (or woman) indeed. Eventually.

The Miniscule and the Mundane

I have two things to say. Firstly, if you're a fan of the Toronto Subway system, have ever ridden it or are even remotely familiar with it, check out this site. It's silly, but it made me laugh at 2 in the morning, so it deserves a mention. If your parents work for the TTC, they may be tickled to know that it was banned from general consumption ... for what reason? I don't pretend to know. Anagrams, while geeky, don't seem to dangerous to me.

Secondly ... well, I dunno. I just got a long email from one of my best friends from childhood and I want to say that nothing feels better than being remembered, noticed or loved. Maybe even all three. The best things we can all do for each other are the ones that cost nothing; take time to thank someone that made your day easier. Give the one you love your actual, full attention. Mail a handwritten letter to a friend to let them know you think they're great. It doesn't seem insurmountable to make the world a better place, with such small gestures. I truly believe it's possible.

Adam Say: This Man Is My Hero

I just wanted to give a well-deserved shout out to my friend Adam Say, who was rightly bestowed the title of Queen's University Walkhome Head Manager for the 2006-2007 school year. Not only is he one of the best friends I could ask for, he's also all of the following: a joke and a pimp and a huge-hearted man, and Walkhome has never been the same since he joined. He was partly responsible for bringing together Steve and I when we worked for Walkhome together, so I guess I owe him at least this much!! I couldn't be more proud, and am already considering accepting teacher's college at Queen's instead of at U of T, so that I can work for his service. Congrats, Saj - I am absolutely thrilled for you! (shown here after shaving his head for cuts for cancer last year)