Happy Birthday to You.

What's that? A blog post you say? Why that's crazier than the murderous Mrs. Edward Scissorhands that spooked me during a walk n' text and from whom I (quite coolly) screamed and ran. (She tried to grab my phone. Or my boobs. Or my soul. I'd tell you the story but if I tell it one more time I won't have a musician boyfriend to write about any longer. And I'll be paying full rent.) 

What you are about to read is a birthday wish for a dear old (spoiled) friend. (And a bit of non-blog housekeeping.)*

I'm starting to think that I suffer from a yet-to-be-discovered disease. I am not a doctor, but if I were, I would classify this illness as a strain of verbal diarrhea.  It seems that when around friends or family from outside of Toronto, I just can't stop talking about how flippin' great this city is. (I use 'talking' loosely, as..it's bragging.)

I diagnosed myself over all-you-can-eat sushi last night with a couple of visiting friends. It was sometime after I spent a good ten minutes 'talking' about how many pet owners there are in Toronto. So many in fact that neighbourhoods (which have EVERYTHING) are equipped with their own veterinarian (are they?) and specialty pet stores, not to mention the lush parks and greenspace that make up for the small square footage and no backyard. 

Since when did I start caring about urban pet population and care patterns? Since when did I think other people would? I don't even own a pet! Musician boyfriend hates pets! (No no, you read this wrong. He does have a soul, he just hates pets.)

Yes, there are many conveniences of living in this city I will still tout to anyone who cares to listen.


1. The calories laden in the groceries I buy are conveniently burned off on the walk there (and back).
2. I conveniently don't have to pay attention to the insane price of gas. And, quite conveniently, am never required to be a DD.
3. I can conveniently hop on a plane to NY (and back) for under $300. And will one day, when I can afford  the insane prices of NY hotels.

Said BBQ, assembled inside.
Moments before MB learned that it
doesn't fit through the balcony door.

But there are also many inconveniences. Inconveniences I've been ruminating on throughout tonight's trek (with musician boyfriend and fold-out cart in tow) to Canadian Tire to buy a BBQ and transport it back to our apartment.

It reminded me of the early days of the move, in blustery February, when all things related to home reno became the definition of inconvenience.






1. I cannot conveniently throw some cans of paint in my car and drive the ten minutes back to my house.
2. Price comparison is not necessarily a convenient option.
3. Parents and friends (okay, Dads) are not conveniently nearby with their circular saws and concrete drills and advice on mounting 30 lb shelves.


But a most inconvenient truth came to light this evening. Which actually tops having to help schlep a fold-out cart full of lighter fluid, charcoal and a damned cumbersome BBQ up and down stairs to the subway.


I am not conveniently close to a dear friend's birthday celebrations in Thunder Bay. A friend whom I miss whenever I see a hot skinny blonde (your welcome) walking down the street and I swear, for a second, that it's her.


A friend without which I wouldn't even be writing this, because a) well...frankly she demanded a special birthday post and b) (more importantly) she pushed me to start a non-blog in the first place. My reasons why I should not be writing a blog was in response to her goading me on a phone date. And this supportive and thoughtful skinny blonde is admirably hard to deny.


The birthday lady is pictured to the right, during a candid moment from a girl's trip. She looks sad, and I've always kind of wondered why, since we were all so f*ing excited about being in the Dominican Republic together. But now I know she's thinking, "...Damn I'm going to miss Brianne on my 27th birthday."


Right?


Right?






*Several of my 11 readers mentioned that they were unable to comment on my posts. In summary, their comments included: a menacing threat to make sure I was actually going to work on the blasted book this summer, a promise to stop going to the very same drycleaners that swindled me (SUCCESS!) and the fact that quinoa, like tomatoes, is also a fruit (blew my mind).


Anyway, I think the comments are fixed. Try leaving one.