It appears that I spoke too soon... the adorable Newfie Gooner seems to have lost interest And quite suddenly too. Of course nothing has been expressly said, but nothing had been expressly said to begin with so I can't even say with all certainty what, if anything was going on anyway. Confused? Welcome to my world.

As always seems to be the case with me, it's that change in behaviour that speaks louder than any words can. Especially since I am apt to do behave in the same way when I have become un-enamoured with certain folks. You start off in constant communication, by text, phone, chat... You want to see that person all the time.

In the case with NG, he was always communicating... always the first one to suggest getting together... always said 'hi' immediately when he popped online... But since he came back from a mini vacay a couple of weeks ago, things are very different. Like night and day different. Now it is I who must initiate things, where I never had to do that before. I never got a chance, because he was always beating me to it. I understand that perhaps it might be my turn to take then initiative, at least now and again, but even when I do, there seems to be a overall lack of enthusiasm for spending time together. Don't get me started on the complete lack of physical contact these days.

In fact, the whole thing has now become a classic example of "He's just not that into you if..."

- He doesn't seem to want to see you
- He doesn't want to touch you
- He doesn't want to talk to you
- He doesn't say goodbye when leaving town for a couple of days

I am, of course, highly disappointed, but I suppose the whole thing was a little too good to be true. I mean, how often does it actually happen where a friend turns into something more? And more to the point.. how often does it actually happen with me specifically. Um, like never? Apparently.

Stay tuned...

9021 Oh My!

Before I get into the awesomeness that was the new 90210... I must first regale you all with this aside...

So, it has been sometime since I resigned from a certain high-performance sport organization. Shortly after said resignation I took a temporary gig with a company that I had worked for temporarily before I started working at said high-performance sport organization. It was strictly temporary, for anyone willing to do such mind numbing work for any period of time would have to be mentally challenged to some degree. Having been here now for four months, I indeed am questioning my mental abilities, though to take blame and responsibility completely and utterly away from myself, I had though for many months that an offer was forthcoming from a local municipality that shall remain nameless, just in cases. Honestly, who tells someone they want to hire you... have permission to hire you... but that they don't have a place to put you so to sit tight??? Ugh. At any rate, I have given up on that pie in the sky and hope to be leaving Dunder Mifflin shortly via some other avenue.

To finish off this little piece, and to give you a general idea how I have spent my days these last few months...

I have spent the better part of this morning surfing the interweb to find pictures of Greyhound buses, Greyhound bus schedules, greyhound bus locations, and anything else noteworthy about the Greyhound bus organization. All this at the request of the elderly senior partner (who is LONG past the usual age of retirement in such as civilized country as Canada), which began as the request of his mentally challenged adult son who spends his days on the phone with his Dad asking for colour printouts of whatever happens to pop into his mind at any given time throughout the day. Don't get me wrong. It is very sweet. But honestly... I went to University for this? Le sigh. (as an aside, aside… with his Dad gone out for lunch, I had a chance to speak with the son, who urgently needed to get in touch with his Dad to pass along a most important message about tow trucks, and that fact that no fewer than 17 had been spotted that morning!!!)

On the plus side... I am now your go-to girl for anything Greyhound Bus, or long distance bus travel related... (and the alarming number of tow trucks out and about on a given morning)

But onto much more interesting, though only slightly less pathetic topics... How much did I love 90210 last night? From the first scene to the end, I was entertained to my hearts delight. Even down to the original opening theme...

Spent fully two hours on msn with Girl, most of our convo consisting of the following. In fact, I guess you could say this WAS our conversation, just repeated in varying order throughout the night:


This is awesome

He's HOT

I think HE is hotter

Yes, he is... I like them both

Well, you can't have both of them... I'll take the teacher

Why can't I have both

Why are you such a greedy bitch

Holy crap these girls are skinny

The mom is a bitch

Love the grandma

That guy looks like Superman

I think he looks like James Marsden

No, more like James Marsden


OMG Brenda

OMG Brendan is Kelly's baby daddy...

And on and on and so forth...

Of course, you must also imagine that anything and everything that came from my end would have been laced with my usual msn typos... I do, of course, type like an illiterate (not to be confused with bad spelling though!), where the word bitch comes out looking more like bithc, etc…

But all the same... I can't wait to see what unfolds!

Your thoughts?



And now onto a juicier topic than my flatulence.

New territory I think for BP, and one that will possibly be resurrected from time to time as long as the Newfie Gooner and I are hangin'... You'll have to be patient with the old girl, possibly relating this topic to your own experiences (or not... no skin off my nose)...

One of the things that has surprised me more than anything with the NG?

The sex.

I know.


As we all know, I am not a virgin.

(As an aside... I wonder what the average 'number of sexual partners' average is these days. I remember when a girl was considered a hoslut if she had slept with more than 5-6 guys in her life. WTF? Seriously? I'm not going to even start to talk numbers, but the fact that I cannot even remember the names of all of mine, let alone how many...)

Anyway... my point being that I may (MAY) have been with more than 5-6 guys in my life. And while I have always enjoyed sex, I always just assumed that the fact that I was generally not totally over the moon DURING the act of sex -- for me it was all about the grand finale -- was a girl thing. As in, it felt OK, but it wasn't really until the you-know-what that you were reminded why you even agreed to do it in the first place. There were more than a few times that if, for whatever reason I was unable to, (mostly due to the selfishness of my partner I might add. Like seriously... 1 minute? What are you? 15?) I actually could not get to sleep that night. I guess kind of like a guy in that respect. I should have excused myself to the bathroom to finish. Or demanded satisfaction in another form. You live and learn.

Knock on wood, things in this respect with the NG are AMAZING. Like... AMAZING. Like a glove, I guess you could say. It's a perfect fit. And truly, for the first time that I can remember, I enjoy the pure act of it. If for some reason, the grande finale chooses to not make an appearance (I'm tired/too much beer/I'm tired, etc.), it doesn't matter because it was so nice. So much so that we've had many discussions about it. Again another first for me... being with someone who is open and willing to talk about that sort of stuff, and more importantly, who I am open and willing to talk to about that stuff with. It's generally about how each of our stuff likes the other person's stuff. And wants to do stuff as much as we can (evil Mother Nature showing her ugly ass face aside, I might add).

TMI for sure, but it makes me think about that whole 'you should wait until you are in love' shite that we are taught our whole lives. Am not remotely near being in love with the NG of course, but it does make for some interesting food for thought...


Who Farted?

A strange topic for today’s discussion, but one that has been on my mind for several days now.

I’m a gassy person.

There, I’ve said it.

It’s out in the open.

No turning back now.

Being a gassy person has usually not been much of a problem for me these past few years. Having lived no my own for a while now, I have been free to be as flamboyantly flatulent as deemed necessary. Because who is going to hear me, other than Hugh, whose opinion in this matter I hardly care about.

Specifically I am a morning gas passer and will happily lie in bed for a few moments before getting up, tooting away to my hearts content. Again, not been a problem for the spinster that I have been for so long.

Things, however, have changed of late.

I am sort of, kind of, maybe, perhaps not single anymore. Not to get too excited about it because I really don’t know WHAT we are, but he is a lovely little Newfie Gooner (is from Newfoundland + supports Arsenal football club = Newfie Gooner) who I met a few months ago. We started off as complete and utter friends, and not even in the “I am going to say I just want to be friends even though I am open to the possibility that maybe we might like each other in ‘that way, but at least this way I won’t feel like a loser if you don’t like me” kind of friends. But ‘just friends’ we are no more, and in fact, I can’t remember having met such a wonderful person, guy or girl, in a very long time. Yay me.

But whatever… if that was what this posting was going to be about, it would have been titled “Someone Who Bea Likes Actually Likes Her Back… Hell Apparently Frozen Over”. And besides, who cares about that when there are clearly more important issues to discuss… like my farting.

Backtracking to last weekend, after a lovely visit to the former roomie’s new house out in the ‘burbs, my Newfie Gooner opted to spend the night at mine, despite my cat and his predilection for using NG as a drop zone target from atop the bookshelf beside my bed.

But did I sleep? No… Why? Because my body decided it hated me. Never in my life had I been more gassy than I was that night. It was painful even… Unable to toot at will, the cramps started… the horrible cramps, with air threatening to leak out loudly with every movement I made, with enough wind stored up in there to power a small country for decades. Which meant that trying to be sneaky and let it out silently was never going to happen... and one can only get up and go into the bathroom, turn the water on full blast and flush the toilet like 8 times in a row to muffle the noise so many times in the course of a few hours.

It was horrible.


So I guess the question is… what the hell is a girl supposed to do???


To Love or to Hate, That is the Question

Before I start; a few things. Yes, I am officially unemployed. By choice. It’s both weird and absolutely lovely to not have to get up at the sound of an alarm clock. True, I could be like those morning types who regardless of plans/ no plans/ weekday/ weekend still set their alarms to get up at the crack of dawn. I gave up long ago trying to pretend I was one of those people, just like how I gave up sometime ago that I gave two hoots about hockey (I’m convinced that any sport where the men are too pansy-assed as to have wear padding is not a sport for me). I like to sleep in dammitt! I also tend to have my bestest and most deepest sleepest between 5am-8am so… if I don’t HAVE to get up, I won’t. Plain and simple.

That being said, I find it curiously easy to get up before the sun has risen in order to get in line at my local on a weekend morning. I, along with my insane friends, are mildy obsessed with getting our favourite booth. So much so that it’s no skin off our noses to be in line at 7:30am on a Sunday morning in -10 degree weather (pub didn’t open until 8:30am) in order to get said booth and watch a match that does not begin until later in the morning. Laugh if you will but there’s a whole little subculture that exists of us folk here in Toronto. Come and join us sometime if you don’t believe me.

I was with one of the above mentioned insane peeps last Sunday to watch my beloved Liverpool get soundly trounced by the evil Mancs. Boo… And something somewhat disconcerting has been going on with him of late.

Of course he was someone I met online… and there was a tiny possibility at first that something might happen. Any hope of that transpiring was resounding quashed when it was discovered that he actually IS one of those morning types who set their alarms at the crack of dawn no matter what day it is—you have not seen an irritated Beatrice until she is woken up to the sound of music blaring at 6:00am on a Saturday morning and not turned off despite repeated requests to do so. Anyway, friends we became and he met someone shortly thereafter. They dated until quite recently.

It ended very abruptly and quite without warning, only 3 days after it was decided they were to move in together in a few months time. Said friend was devastated and rightfully so. He had fallen in love you see. How very sad they whole thing was. I was sympathetic. I wished for him to heal soon so he could jump back onto the dating wagon and wook pa nub again.

Well, soon for him meant just two days later. Needless to say I was somewhat horrified. I told him as much a few weeks later when I discovered that he seemed hell bent on dating as many women as he could while seeming to have little to no respect for any of them. He admitted to me he still had feelings for the girl who had only just recently broken his heart. I asked him why the eff he was even going through the motions of dating… blah blah blah… told him about some of the experiences that I had… went in one ear and out the other apparently… because since that time, things have only gotten worse.

It now takes all the strength in my core to sit through a two hour soccer game, all the while listening to someone who I at once thought was quite a decent bloke, regale me with tales from the half a dozen or so girls he saw went out with that week… not to mention the same number from the week before… and the week before that. But it’s not the math that disturbs me. After all, there was once a time when I deemed it an unproductive and unsuccessful week if I was not out on a date 5 out of 7 nights… So I am careful to not be a hypocrite.

What does upset me is the way he talks about them… When pressed, he still professes love for the ex. His face then promptly clouds over with anger and bitterness, only to then move on to satisfaction as he talks about his bird, that bird and the other one, who liked him but who he can’t wait to throw in the ditch as the next one is on the docket in just a few hours time. He gets very defensive when questioned about his motives. I am very saddened at this turn of events…

He’s clearly trying to get back at his ex by hurting as many women as possible. What to do, what to say???

The "P" Word

Today, I feel weird. Besides the fact that I still feel like a “P” word (but the THE “P” word) from my uber cold that just does not seem to want to go away… I am also crampy and grumpy and bloated as per usual when another “P” word that is not the “P” word in question plays a visit… there is something else a foot that is causing me to feel odder than usual.

You may all be curious to know that I wear, what the French call, le thong. I have for a really long time. I wasn’t super quick to jump on this fashion miracle. After all, I grew up on a small island that had little use for such things. It’s possible that my friends wore them University but as we rarely discussed the “P” word and sure as hell did not “P”rance around in our knickers, I wouldn’t really have any idea. At any rate, no one extolled the virtues of le thong to me and, up until I started working for Club Med and had to dance around in a white unitard while playing the ever-so-sexy Jenny Annie Dots in our rendition of Cats, did the notion of wearing le thong so as to remove those unsightly visible “P” word lines even enter into my mind.

Welcome to 1999 Bea.

Now, of course, I wouldn’t condescend to wear anything else. Oh sure, les thongs definitely took some getting used to but at the end of the day, they are just “P”lain more comfortable than anything else. You’ll imagine my horror of going into my unmentionable drawer this morning to discover that I was in desperate need to do laundry!

Ugh… and so I was forced to do the unthinkable.

Why I even still have a pair of granny “P” word thingies is quite beyond me. In fact, I have several. I can’t remember the last time they were worn, if ever. My brain has a theory that my Mom bought them for me once upon a time and I never got around to throwing them out. I must say I am thankful for them today though… While I have no problem going commando when the occasion calls for it… A workday in the middle of winter is definitely not that occasion.

But it wasn’t as simple as just putting them on and beginning my day. I had to be very careful that the outfit I wore was such that any VPL would not be detectable to the unaided eye. I am shamelessly critical when I see VPLs on women (“tsk, tsk, in this day and age… UNACCEPTABLE”). On men? Well, really and truly there is no excuse… it causes me to go down a road that I really don’t want to go down. For when I see a man’s tighty whities visible under his trousers, I can’t help but visualize this person in all their unde-roo glory. Sadly, the type of fellow generally still wearing these types of undergarments is exactly the kind of guy who you really have no interest in imagining in their undies… It’s the most vicious of vicious circles.

Anyway, I carefully chose the outfit and am certain no one can see. But I feel weird. I feel icky. I feel unnatural. I feel the need…

To do laundry!

Like now!


Baby It's Cold Outside

Today it is cold in Toronto. Like retarded cold for the end of February. So cold that my stylish red Team Canada jacket actually froze and made the oddest crinkling sounds when I moved. I thought my hood would crack off. Not the best day to wear only a skirt and tights (a top too… obviously).

I entered the building this morning right behind a woman in a very fancy fur coat such that only a very wealthy woman would dare to wear/ could afford. Quite frankly, I am not a fan of fur coats, or fur in general… I could say that it’s due to some sort of ethics or morals on my part but let’s be honest… I eat meat… I wear cows on my feet… I would be an uber hypocrite if I were to rant about the evils of fur. No folks, I just plain think that fur is ugly. Don’t see the appeal and I never have.

So I did look at the coat with a bit if distain because it was quite god awful in my estimation, though it looked to be about the warmest thing on the planet at that moment.

And then I chanced to look at this woman’s head. On top of said head was perched one of the most ridiculous things I have ever seen. So silly that I forgot all about the ugly fur coat and chuckled to myself while waiting for the elevator. For while this woman was wearing what looked to be a $10,000 fur coat (at least… although what the hell do I know...), she was wearing a “Budget Rent-a-Car” toque on top of her head.

But this was no ordinary and run-of-the-mill toque folks… this thing had CLASS… brown and orange, grey, white and blue… it had BUDGET-RENT-A-CAR boldly emblazoned around the forehead. As an added touch, it also had the world’s largest pompom affixed to the top. It was brilliant. I couldn’t take my eyes off the ensemble.

And as she was getting off on the 4th floor. The three of us left in the elevator broke out into laughter… no words needed to be said. We shared that moment together… all three of us. And the toque.



The List That Will Never Cease to Grow

It occurred to me this morning, while I was most annoyed at having to use a can opener to open a new can of coffee, that it has been quite some time since I have done a “Things That Annoy Me List”. So without further adieu…

Beatrice Petty’s Things That Annoy Me
February 2008 Edition

1)Can openers. I use can openers very sparingly… Tuna for Devil Cat… which he sometimes doesn’t get if he’s run out the day before due to my abhorrence of the opener de can, which I can blame on the fact that over the course of the night he probably misbehaved at some point and with tuna being a privilege and not a right, it’s easy for me to justify (I understand that I need professional help)… Various cream soups for use in the new slow cooker… which always leads to the sudden appearance of the Devil Cat who associates a can opening with a treat for him.

2)The new girl who works next to me. I realize that I am one of those people who have little patience for others. I don’t like everyone… and even those who I do like I don’t like all the time. We have a bunch of new people who started earlier this year and because of that, needed to do a bit of office jostling. This saw me move my office space from my blessed dark little hole in the corner away from everyone, to a completely wide open cubby that is now shared with the new assistant of the boss that I never got along with. And my patience has long since evaporated with this woman.

If you missed it in a previous post, I quit my job a couple months back and am only here for another couple of weeks. But instead of taking stuff off my plate so that I can get my files organized and create this “manual of all the stuff in my brain that no one else knows how to do” (as was made evident when I took a week’s holiday in January and my department almost fell apart), I have more work then ever to do and sometimes feel so overwhelmed that I just want to cry. Since I gave notice, not a week has gone by where I haven’t said to myself “I would quit today if I had not already done so”. So… long story short. I is bizay.

The new girl? Not so busy. But very chatty. Mundane stuff I don’t care about in the slightest chatty. Also, she’s a ‘cold’ person, which I am sure anyone has come across before, or in fact, is one themselves. A ‘cold’ person is someone who is always cold in the office. But instead of layering up… ie. put a sweater on you daft cow… she insists on running a ceramic heater on high all day long. Unfortunately (for me), I am a ‘hot’ person who prefers to work in an environment slightly cooler than the lowest pits of hell. I also find the office to be dry even on the best of days so to be blasting our little space with hot dry heat for 8 hours straight = one perturbed (and dry and red-eyed) Bea.

But the latest and dare I say the straw that broke the alligator’s back? I came back to my desk and the 6” pile of mail that I had been conveniently storing in my mailbox until such a time as I saw fit to go through it/ throw it out before I left was sitting on my keyboard. I had barely enough time to think “WTF?” before Chatty Cathy proudly announced that she had been kind enough to bring me the mail from my mailbox. So NOW… I am left with a stack of mostly fax confirmations and a few other pieces of correspondence that I was choosing to ignore, cluttering up my already oh-so-very cluttered desk.

3)This shite cold that I have had for a week. I sound like a chain-smoking truck driver. Not a pretty sight.

4)Going to the movies and forgetting my Scene card. Do they have the Scene card in other parts of Canada/ the world? I am completely obsessed with my Scene card. For some reason I did not have Scene card when going to the movies last week with the old roomie and it put me in such a mood. I felt like I was cheating on my Scene card because how dare I go to a movie and not get points towards another? I was also very thirsty but couldn’t bring myself to purchase a beverage at full price. Sufficed to say I spent much of the duration of the movie dwelling on where my card was and hoping with all the hope in the universe that it was in a coat pocket somewhere instead of lost and never to be seen again. The latter would have been heartbreaking for I had enough points on it for two free movies… (btw, all is good. It was in the pocket of a coat I had worn to the last movie I saw. Crisis averted).

Now what else am I forgetting???


Why is a Beer When it Spins???

Another birthday come and gone, though the fact that I can out drink a couple of alcoholic Englishmen is slightly disconcerting to me. And by slightly, of course, I mean yikes.

But here’s something curious… despite drinking my weight, and then some, in booze, I came home and just wasn’t quite ready to go to sleep. So up I stayed and watched some videos until 5am or so until I finally decided to hit the hay. When I woke up again to go potty, as I do pretty much every night because I have the worst bladder ever…

On a related albeit disgusting note, I feel that I need to share that I almost peed my bed the other week… I was having one of those dreams where you are going to the bathroom… and I REALLY had to go… so I finally found a bathroom though as usual, it offered little in the way of privacy… Why is it that the dreaming me who needs to go to the bathroom must always do so in a communal toilet, or one with a stall whose door is missing/ too short/ toilet backed up etc… But nature called and so I went and it was so relieving (no pun intended). Thankfully I am a light sleeper because I woke up just in the nick of time and disaster was averted. Can you remember the last time you peed a bed? I do. I was in university and it was my ex-boyfriend’s bed. I swear that I didn’t do it on purpose… just one of those things. I never did tell him.

Anyhoo… the rest of that story seems so stupid now that I went off on the pee pee tirade, so I will just end it by saying that I woke up early, like 8am early… and despite having had an entire keg of beer to myself, not to mention who knows how many shooters, I was wide awake and raring to go.

Cut to… Last night. After a very pleasant interview experience which I really, really hope I got, I was joined in my hood by the taller of the beer loving Brits who, I will admit that despite agreeing to be strictly platonic friends, I have a bit of a crush on. It’s quite manageable for the time being but we’ll see… so with that in mind, you may be interested to know that last night, he finally declared his love…

For my cat. I could be making way too much out of the whole thing but I am thinking that when the guy you have the teensiest crush on begins a sentence with “I love”, only to follow with “your cat”… It ain’t looking good in ye olde love department, unless you’re the cat.

So there we were having some pints. I only had three over the course of 4 hours. But despite that, I got drunk… had a somewhat early night, lots of water… 7 or so hours of sleep. And today? Well in no particular order…

1) Could NOT get out of bed this morning. No headache mind you, just could have slept several more hours, like, several.
2) My cat attacked me without warning from behind the curtains. Am thinking that if a certain tall Englishman loves the damn thing so much then he can have him!
3) I’m as bloated as… well, as something that’s really bloated. Am open to suggestions.
4) Our finance guy greeted me today with “Hi Bea. You look REALLY tired”.
5) Gas. Gassy. I have gas. I should be put in a quarantined room (with an open window please) so as not to offend anymore people.
6) 3 + 4 + 5 = :(

I guess what I am trying to say is…



Holy Momma

The last 6 plus months have gone by like nothing. It seems like only yesterday that I was being dissed by a short, bald, old scottish man who had lived in Canada so long that he no longer had an accent. NO ACCENT??? What the eff was I thinking???

I was very upset about it too, for about a week. And then I remembered that I really only like tall guys with actual British accents and got over the whole thing quite quickly.

Yes, I am that superficial. Who knew???

Since then, my social life, life in general to be honest, has been somewhat unremarkable. I won't go into the mould poisoning that caused me to puff up like a bullfrog, but sufficed to say that I'm not dating at the mo'. Nor have I been for like EVER... but as I seem to only be not dating tall Englishmen, it's all good. Did that make sense? Surely not.

Blah, Blah, Blah... then Christmas at home for two weeks cooped up with the parents that almost had me go insane... Blah, Blah, Blah... quit my job last month with nary another prospect in sight... Became an overnight Guitar Hereo...yadda yadda yadda... Valentine's Day spent alone... tomorrow I will be in my mid-thirties... Badda Bing... Badda Boom. That pretty much brings us up to speed on the last 6 months. Seriously. Sad no?

I'd like to send a shout to the following... to Britney, for keeping me amused these past few months. To Rafa, for not trading my Crouchy during the January transfer window. To my Dad, for buying me a kickass Liverpool jersey for Christmas. To the former-Roomie who got married last year and became an aunt for the first time only yesterday (yaaaaaaaaaaay). To Wee who had a wee baby boy of her own (yaaaaaaaaaay). To the 6 feet of snow that has fallen this month (I LOVE SNOW!!!). To having the balls to finally take my life into my own hands. Last but not least, to Pizza Hut Stuffed Crust Pizza. To which I have been addictted to ever since they first came out with it and am about to order in about 2.5 seconds.

Birthday celebs tomorrow. Fingers crossed that I make past 9pm. Pray to the universe that no one offers up shooters!!!

Bea Out!