How the Mighty... and Mel Gibson, Have Fallen

Does anyone else remember when Mel Gibson was not the world’s biggest freak?

There once was a time that I actually loved the guy. Always enjoyed his work. Respected the fact that he loved and seemed faithful to his wife and had a large brood of children. Braveheart was a kick-ass movie and who doesn’t love the Lethal Weapon series? I even enjoyed the one where he put on pantyhose and wore lipstick, even though Helen Hunt has about the sex appeal of sloth.

When was it, then that he started to really turn my stomach? It’s not the raging alcoholism… that I can deal with. Can’t put my finger on it… Oh wait, it’s the raging Catholicism that turns me off to the point that I can barely stand to look at the guy any more. He sometimes redeems himself, speaking out against the war in Iraq comes to mind, but those instances seem to few and far between. He has been accused of homophobia and anti-Semitism as well, but as that has yet to officially be confirmed I am willing to not hold it against him at this point. Wait a minute… Hmmm, not an anti-Semite you say?

The newest fodder in my “Mel Gibson Sucks” fire is not even that he was arrested for driving completely sh*tfaced over the weekend. After all, what self- respecting actor has not dabbled with a little DUI now and again? Nope, it was the fact that among other completely ridiculously insulting things, MeGi supposedly uttered the following, just a part of a barrage of insults he hurled at the officers who arrested him:

"F*****g Jews... The Jews are responsible for all the wars in the world."

This is usually always the first thing out of my mouth when I am arrested for drunk driving. It’s so relevant to the task at hand. It’s about as relevant as being out on a date with someone when all of a sudden he shouts "F*****g gays... A gay man f*****g a monkey is the reason why all the STDs in the world exist.", because that, like, totally impresses a girl. And while MeGi did not utter those words in this instance (although it is probably only a matter of time) they were uttered by a guy that I DID go out on a date with, who then proceeded to stalk me…

"F*****g stalkers... A stalker is the reason why I won’t go out with guys I meet at bus stops anymore”

Yeah, I really don’t like bus stops. Or Mel Gibson. Or stalkers.


Aint' He Cute?

For lack of having anything more exciting to talk about, I thought I would share some pictures of my baby. He really is adorable. Except for say, at 3am when he decides that my body is his newest chew toy. Little bastard... I mean... Isn't he the cutest?

Hugh's favorite place to sleep

The Hugh Hotel


TV Guide

Thursdays are awesome... if you have BBC Canada, that is. Why? Well The Office and Little Britain back to back aside, these shows, which are like, two of my favorite shows ever... are immediately preceded by my new favorite show ever: Coupling.

I know I have gone over this before, but I really truly mean it when I say that my life had not been complete before I discovered this not so hidden gem. Case in point, I want nothing for Christmas except all the seasons I am missing. Hint Hint.

I spent a solid 30 minutes last night laughing so hysterically by myself in my l'il 'partment that I thought surely the neighbours would call someone to take me away. Below is an excerpt from the show I watched last night. Thanks to You Tube, which is fast becoming the greatest thing ever put on the internet... besides my blog that is... and maybe the former roommie's... and porn.

Anyway, it's out of context and you won't know the characters but just imagine it's your birthday and the woman of your dreams has approached you at work and tempted you with all of your heart's sexual desires...

Ok, it's still out of context... so watch/ rent/ buy the shows damnit! And when you do, I'll be here... waiting... for you to thank me for making your lives just a little bit better.

All hail Bea


More Things That Annoy Me

I know that in the past I have posted about inconsiderate public behaviour… putting make-up on in public, cracking gum, not holding doors or elevators etc… But I can’t remember if I wrote about the following. If I did I apologize but I had an experience this morning that I cannot keep to myself.


Public Enemy Number One

Granted, I am not a whistler… you know, one of those people who whistles for the fun of it. I CAN whistle if the occasion calls for it, but as luck would have it, it rarely does. I’m more of a hummer. I’ll hum along to myself, usually when I am along. If the mood does happen to strike me whilst out among civilized society, I do it under my breath so that only I can hear.

Cut to this morning. I get on the train that will take me two stops to my place of work. Yes, I could walk. And yes, I should walk. It’s only about a 25 minute walk but you try telling my “I could get up and walk or sleep an extra 25 minutes antithesis of a morning person” self to get out of the world’s most comfortable bed. Go ahead, I dare you. I guarantee that the outcome will not be pleasant. Anyway…

So on the train I get and before it has even left good old Eggy station the “annoyance hairs” on the back of my neck have begun to stand up.

Someone is whistling.

Bea is not alone in swiveling her head to see who the culprit is. Apparently I is not the only one with a dislike of the irksome sounds created by blowing air through puckered lips. Aha, there he is. And he is oblivious to the glares emanating in his direction from all those around him. Of course he is, because his back is turned and he is facing the door of the train so what the deuce does he care?

As if the whistling was not bad enough, the worst part was that he wasn’t even whistling any tune to speak of. It was more of a do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-do-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-do-ra- do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-do-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-do-ra…

And thus it continued for the duration of the ride which granted, was only about 4 minutes. But 4 minutes seems like an awfully long time when one is subjected to do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-do-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-do-ra- do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-do-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-ra-do-ra-mi-mi-do-ra…

Is it cocktail time yet?


Poetry for a Monday

Continuing in the vein of my “Ode to the Sty on my Eye” poem from the weekend, I was going to regale everyone with an “Ode to the Colossal Zit on My Nose,” but found that “zit” and “nose” just did not have the same rhyming capabilities as “sty” and “eye.”

So instead, I present to you my ZitKu.

Pus-filled and tender
To have grown this fat beasty
Pores need new hobby

Anyone else starting to get the impression that my face is conspiring against me?

On a different note altogether, but perhaps somehow related as it is entirely possible that my voodoo curse has returned…

So, I am back doing what I do best… dating and I was chatting to this fella for the better part of a week. He seemed nice. As I am not wookin pa nub, I was not even turned off by the fact that the ink on his divorce was not yet dry. Like I said, he seemed nice… and I’ve been bored.

And then it started. The double entendres over msn. Harmless little questions and conversations that somehow or other always ended up in the gutter.

Gutterball says: So are you a morning or night person

Bea says: Definitely not a morning person

Gutterball says: OK, well I won’t wake you too early

And about a bazillion other references like that. Which at first was not too bad, but after about the 5th one in a 5 minute conversation, it starts to become really annoying. Especially when you have already alluded to the fact that it annoys you. But whatever, I kind if just brushed it off and ignored it and we made plans to meet on Friday.

Thursday comes and I get the old “hey, I might have to cancel if some health issues come up the ex” (apparently she a few mental issues). This one phrase alone did what none of the gutter talk did… It made me want to flee to the high hills. Why?

Because not only did this guy spend a week warning me that when “he cuddles he has wandering hands” and that he’ll “make sure his fridge is fully stocked with my favorite breakfast foods” for our date… which is like, ew… but when it came down to it, the Gutterball was giving himself an out should something better come along. How do I know that it was a bullsh*t excuse? Well, I don’t. But let me tell you, the old girl has doled out some of the same in her heyday. Enough to know when I am hearing one in return at the very least. And if it was not some excuse? Actually the alternative was even worse because if this gutterball is still so involved with the mental issues of his wife that he would have to break off a social engagement then clearly he has no business wookin pa nub.

And so back to karma/voodoo curses.

What did I do? I blew him off. Just never logged on to msn on Friday. I did what would have driven me CRAZY had it been done to me… and has been done to me… and it did drive me crazy. And yet here I was, doing it. With no remorse… and still no remorse. Because here I am, in a position to be choosy and NOT go out with a guy who speaks to me in a manner that even my past bfs have never done, without even having met me AND giving me excuses as to why possibly he would maybe have to cancel on me at the last minute. Buh-Bye.

But I wonder…

My sty and my zit, on the same weekend. Coincidence? Is the Universe punishing me for throwing Gutterball down the gutter with nary a word? Oh well. Get used to it Universe because it’s only a gentleman for this girl. And gentlemanly is as gentlemanly does, or gentlewomanly as it were…

So there.

Just as I was posting, I got the saddest sad sack routine from Gutterball. I am not even buying it for a second. I am so going to hell. But not before I vomit.

*Update Part deux*
Gutterball is moving, into a bachelor pad... which is small, but I am not to worry, as there will be more than enough room for the two of us in his bed.

I totally just vomited in my mouth... Now where did I put that toothpaste?


Poetry Corner with Beatrice Petty


I have a sty

It is on my eye

Why oh why

Do I have this sty

On my eye

In this month of July


Why, I have had no sty

Since senior high

After eating Pumpkin Pie

By the by

In the starry night sky

And now, this July

I have a new sty

Located quite high

On my adorable right eye

I'm sure I'll get by

As long as someone comes by

And they bring Pumpkin pie

By the by

To eat under the starry night sky

Don't be shy

Or a wise guy

Or make fun of my eye

Which currently has a sty




This Week in TV News...

Just in case I forgot to mention this, I now have satellite TV. No, not good satellite... like the free satellite that you can pirate and get all the cool US channels, like the History and Biography Channels for free. Nope, I got the good old fashioned Canadian pay an arm and a leg the Biography Channel is some lazy hybrid version of the US version satellite. Like, whatever.

Anyway, all that aside, it's pretty cool. I still get to watch all my favs, such as SYTYCD (oh my god... how in lust am I with Dimitri and his heaving, hairless and totally cut chest), Canadian Idol not so much after that adorable red head guy got voted off, an essentially endless supply of The Simpsons, hardcore porn on the weekends at midnight (no, I cannot go out this Friday, I am BUSY... in fact, I am busy EVERY Friday and Saturday night... from now on until the end of time... bye). You know, the usual.

However, through some new channels I have recently been introduced to some shows that I was never able to see until now. Coupling is a show that I had heard of but only in so far as that I knew a crappy American version of the British had been made and cancelled almost as quickly. I happened to be home on Saturday night... wink wink... and stumbled across it. Two words:

Never laughed harder at anything in my entire life. If you ever get a chance to see it... DO IT. Oh, and it stars the dude who plays Norrington in the Pirates movies. He looks different sans powdered wig.

The second show, which I had been dying to see since I became completely addicted to the BBC version of The Office. I personally think that Ricky Gervais is a freaking genius. The new show he started after The Office ended is called Extras and the premise is that RG wants to be an actor but only seems to be able to get work as an extra. To date I have only seen a few episodes. The most recent one guest starred the ever so sexy Patrick Stewart as himself, as all the celebrity guest stars of which there are many, do. However, THIS Patrick Stewart was a slightly dirty Patrick Stewart obsessed with magically melting women's clothing off their body. Again, see the above mentioned two words re: Coupling.

I must, must, must get a hold of copies of these series... or I shall die. And what would become of my little Hughie? I repeat... must... get...copies.


What is Wrong With the Earth?

The last few days, Toronto has been experiencing temperatures, the likes of which I think can only been found on Mercury... Or maybe the Sun.

Except on the Sun, I imagine it to be a tad less humid. I also imagine that on the Sun, the subway would be air conditioned. And there would be moving walkways every where. And they would be air conditioned. And in the grocery stores, which even on Earth are air conditioned, on the Sun they would also be air conditioned, but on the Sun, everything that I wanted to purchase on that particular visit would be on sale. And all the cashiers would be pirates... But that is neither here nor there at this point.

Until I become the head of a grocery store chain that is... And I would name it 'Ayes'... and our slogan would be 'Aye's Buys are Always Fresh... Argh' and our TV commercials would be like the ones on TV that look like your Uncle Bob did, you know, with his camcorder, because, like, it was free... and I would come on the screen, with a fake sailing ship in the background and with a pirate voice say "Argh me Matey's... Cap'n Bea welcomes ye to Aye's, where our buys are always fresh and where we guarantee... Argh... the lowest prices or ye get ye money back ya Scallywags... And I'll walk the plank... that's the Aye's guarantee...Argh"... and I would be wearing a pirate hat... Oh, and a patch over my eye... Oh, and there would be a stuffed parrot on my shoulder...

Damn it's hot.


Bea's Big Fat Mouth and Kind Heart


Here is where I start to question my intelligence. I was asked a while back whether I would be willing to cat sit for a friend for the month of August. And by “cat”, I mean that in the plural sense. I said no, because I find even looking after one cat challenging enough. I knew too that I would be moving into a bachelor and thought that 3 cats might just be a bit much for a place only slightly larger than a breadbox.

Conveniently I used my little Destruct-O-Matic 5000 as the reason for my negative reply and proceeded to give many examples of his unruly behaviour, both towards his former BFF Spaz… which ultimately led to Spaz being removed from the premises over fear of his health and safety… and myself… which ultimately led to the horrible disfigurement that I now sport on both arms. Coincidentally, both happenstances occurred with the same accessories that the Destruct-O-Matic 5000 conveniently came with at no extra charge, namely the “Fighting Claws of Fury” and the “Jaws of Death.” I must have a word with the manufacturers. But never one to leave poor kitties out in the cold, I volunteered to be the last resort should no other suitable arrangements be found.

And now the time has come my friends, the “Last Resort” is officially open for business. After a bit of re-modelling, it is due to open its doors at the beginning of August and like any good business, the success of the new enterprise depends on many factors. Chief among them being that the owner will be tied to said business for the duration of its operation. Already down the drain is my one shot at heading out of the city for a lovely weekend of camping with like-minded individuals… Come to think of it, should any of those like-minded individuals need to book a room at the Last Resort, they had best hurry as space is running out. Of course, the high occupancy rate means that room rates are at a premium and I would insist on payment… Most likely in the form of a lots and lots of booze, a hefty supply of earplugs and possibly a reservation at one of Toronto’s excellent psychiatric facilities.


Bee Rides and Monkey Mahem

I am alive. Just busy at work these days and we all know that posting from la travail is my favorite place from which to do it for it looks like I am actually working but I am not-- I am writing to you, my people. So when I actually DO have to work at work, I find that it kind of mucks things up and not only am I not able to blog but I am unable to keep up with other people’s blogs, online gossip columns, the daily news etc… nor am I able to make any attempts at resurrecting my love life. Because goodness knows I cannot possibly do any of that on my own time.

No, no, no… That would be cutting into my ME time in the evenings and as it is I find that there is just not enough ME time in the day anyway, let alone if I used said ME time to work on the above mentioned computer related activities.

Anyway, I had a lovely weekend which included kayaking with my English Chemist, desperately craving a chicken burger and being told that definitely a place with an Italian sounding name did not serve Italian food, but pub food which would include, but not be limited to chicken burgers only to find out that it really was really only logical that a restaurant with an Italian sounding name would absolutely be an Italian restaurant and would not be caught dead serving anything remotely close to pub food which includes, but is not limited to chicken burgers… And then of course there was the Game on Sunday where I completely forgot my oath to support the team that I did not want to win in hopes that the team that I did want to win would win… I guess we all know who I was cheering for.

But it was an interesting game to say the least. Made even more interesting by Zizou’s head butt which, according to him, was caused by his Mother and Sister being thrice insulted by Marco Materazzi in the last few minutes of the game. Now, call me crazy. I don’t KNOW Zinedine Zidane, nor do I ever think I will ever be so fortunate as to be even remotely close to being in the presence of Zinedine Zindane… but if you were to ask my opinion on the matter, I would have to say that insulting the man's female relatives not once, but three times, would probably not get you onto his Christmas list. I would not even so much as insult the tiniest hair on his head. He has no hair and I would still not insult it. If asked, I would tell the man that he had the most magnificent mane in all the land.


Three words:


Look at this man** Note that I tried like a bazillion times to upload a picture... stupid blogger... here is the pic!!! Hottie though he may be, his stone-face did not even crack when he practically dislocated his shoulder. He walked it off, la-la-la…and was back in the game as if nothing had happened. In my girlish FIFA fantasies, of which I have many, I do not even imagine his face cracking a smile even whilst in the throngs of passionate of love-making. Much different than how I imagine my little Crouchie, who during our date, was all smiles and laughter… Ok, so we never went on a date, but I had a DREAM that we went out on a date. That’s how I know we are MFEO… because we got along so great in my dream. He was like SO into me… He even did The Crouch…

I digress.

What the heck was I talking about???

Damn you Peter Crouch!!!

Viva La France


I’ll admit it. I’ve been in a bit of a tizzy over my beloved England’s loss to a bunch of “Your pathetic acting is not even good enough for a soap opera, so why don’t you just suck it up and stop pretending that you are even remotely in pain and get up and play some gosh darned football you gosh darned pansies” babies. Strong words I know...

I was hopeful that Angleterre would win, but when I woke up and saw that my Crouchie was not on the starting lineup and that only one striker would be played, a loss was now more than just a slight possibility. Sigh… If only I had been the coach.

Pretty much I could care two hoots about the WC right now, except for the game today… France vs. Portugal. Who do I want to win? Well… I’m thinking that the Old Girl has been causing a bit of bad luck in the tournament recently. Why? Because every single team that I have rooted for has lost. It’s true. Australia, Switzerland, Germany, England, Spain, Netherlands, Ghana… All losers. Did I mention that I came dead last in my pool?

So, um, regarding today’s game…