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???