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.
Sunday
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
Hugh's favorite place to sleep
The Hugh Hotel
Friday
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
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
Thursday
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.
Whistling
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?
Whistling
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?
Monday
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.
*Update*
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?
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.
*Update*
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?
Saturday
Poetry Corner with Beatrice Petty
Hi
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
Sigh
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
Sigh
Goodbye
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
Sigh
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
Sigh
Goodbye
Wednesday
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.
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.
Monday
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.
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.
Thursday
Bea's Big Fat Mouth and Kind Heart
So,
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.
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.
Wednesday
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.
Why?
Three words:
Yikes!
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!!!
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.
Why?
Three words:
Yikes!
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
Yes,
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…
GO PORTUGAL!!!
Crouch
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…
GO PORTUGAL!!!
Crouch
Thursday
Show and Tell
Day two without the WC… Am starting to lose all hope... Am seeing soccer balls around every corner… Peoples heads have now been replaced by curious round white sphere with black squares… out of their mouths the only words I hear nothing but FIFA FIFA FIFA FIFA… to which my only reply is CROUCH Crouch CROUCH Crouch CROUCH? And then I start doing the most bizarre robot dance… people at work are starting to look at me funny…
And in other news, just because I can, here are some pictures. I thought you would enjoy seeing the ghetto senior’s home that my balcony now looks on to…I miss the trains... and how every so often, when the smog dissipates ever so slightly, I can see the top of the city’s largest phallus that some people call the CN Tower. Also, a picture of my baby… My how he has grown.
CROUCH
And in other news, just because I can, here are some pictures. I thought you would enjoy seeing the ghetto senior’s home that my balcony now looks on to…I miss the trains... and how every so often, when the smog dissipates ever so slightly, I can see the top of the city’s largest phallus that some people call the CN Tower. Also, a picture of my baby… My how he has grown.
CROUCH
Wednesday
So You Think You Can...
Lucky for all of you there is no WC for two whole days. I know... a tragedy of extraordinary magnitude... but what's a girl to do?
Anyway, so here I am right now. Watching my favorite 'Let's make some other useless person famous' show "So You Think You Can Dance"... when I see an ad for something even more ridiculous.
America's Got Talent.
Yeah, the girl who can shoot a bow and arrow with her feet while doing a handstand deserves to win a million dollars. Like fer sure dude.
And then it occurred to me.
ALL of these shows are this ridiculous. Every single one of them!
And yet I watch. Oh yes I watch. OK, so I won't watch America's Got Talent... or American Inventor... Yikes, that's about it. I'll admit I am a huge SYTYCD fan. I watch the Idol shows, but channel surf an awful lot, unless a cute boy is singing... The Apprentice, Amazing Race... head hung in shame cough Surreal Life if the occasion calls for it...
America's Next Top Model, Canadian version ONLY because it is filmed, like, where I grew up and in a "Hey, I think I was passed out there once with my friends throwing pennies at me one night" kind of way... God help us if they do any film shoots at UVic because the for sure I will be enjoying it in a "I WAS passed out there and tied to a bench thanks to Kopps/ Hey I stole a table from that place and carried it all the way back to residence only to get busted by campus security and claim that we just "happened" to "find" a table 1km away from where it actually lived/ got a stupid RED card and almost kicked out of rez because of my adorable albeit a bit precocious when she's drunk l'ilb friend Wee" kind of way... I digress.
Good Times.
Oh yeah... re: reality shows... Let's get back to the golden age of TV shall we? That's right, the 1970's...
The world needs more Love Boat.
That's my story and I am sticking to it.
BP
PS. Go England!
Anyway, so here I am right now. Watching my favorite 'Let's make some other useless person famous' show "So You Think You Can Dance"... when I see an ad for something even more ridiculous.
America's Got Talent.
Yeah, the girl who can shoot a bow and arrow with her feet while doing a handstand deserves to win a million dollars. Like fer sure dude.
And then it occurred to me.
ALL of these shows are this ridiculous. Every single one of them!
And yet I watch. Oh yes I watch. OK, so I won't watch America's Got Talent... or American Inventor... Yikes, that's about it. I'll admit I am a huge SYTYCD fan. I watch the Idol shows, but channel surf an awful lot, unless a cute boy is singing... The Apprentice, Amazing Race... head hung in shame cough Surreal Life if the occasion calls for it...
America's Next Top Model, Canadian version ONLY because it is filmed, like, where I grew up and in a "Hey, I think I was passed out there once with my friends throwing pennies at me one night" kind of way... God help us if they do any film shoots at UVic because the for sure I will be enjoying it in a "I WAS passed out there and tied to a bench thanks to Kopps/ Hey I stole a table from that place and carried it all the way back to residence only to get busted by campus security and claim that we just "happened" to "find" a table 1km away from where it actually lived/ got a stupid RED card and almost kicked out of rez because of my adorable albeit a bit precocious when she's drunk l'ilb friend Wee" kind of way... I digress.
Good Times.
Oh yeah... re: reality shows... Let's get back to the golden age of TV shall we? That's right, the 1970's...
The world needs more Love Boat.
That's my story and I am sticking to it.
BP
PS. Go England!
Tuesday
Help Me
Hello.
My name is Beatrice and I am a football-aholic.
Right now, I am about 5 minutes away from quitting my job and watching soccer full-time.
I love it.
I can't get enough of it.
Hockey, baseball, figure skating and... gulp... dare I say, even the Olympic Games can all kiss my arse... you name it, they all suck compared to the "Beautiful Game".
It's pretty bad.
It's really bad.
It's REALLY REALLY bad!
And by bad, I mean good...
Good in a "I'm completely obsessed, totally need to get a life and may just start dating again just to distract myself from Peter Crouch" way that is.
So, um... what was I saying?
Oh yeah...
Help.
My name is Beatrice and I am a football-aholic.
Right now, I am about 5 minutes away from quitting my job and watching soccer full-time.
I love it.
I can't get enough of it.
Hockey, baseball, figure skating and... gulp... dare I say, even the Olympic Games can all kiss my arse... you name it, they all suck compared to the "Beautiful Game".
It's pretty bad.
It's really bad.
It's REALLY REALLY bad!
And by bad, I mean good...
Good in a "I'm completely obsessed, totally need to get a life and may just start dating again just to distract myself from Peter Crouch" way that is.
So, um... what was I saying?
Oh yeah...
Help.
Sunday
Hey...
Is for horses...
So, really and truly my life is the FIFA World Cup right now. Other than work being crazy busy, putting my new digs together and trying to re-activate my social life that is. Oh, don't get excited, there's nothing going on on the love front, thus ensuring that 2006 is decidedly neither the Summer, nor the Year of Love when it comes to the old girl. Like, whatever...
And so, like YAY ENGLAND. They keep pulling wins out of their arses, all the while saying that they have more to give... so, like WHEN will they show more? Seriously, this is a question I would like answered. How do you decide that you are going to "give more"... or that we "can do better"... or that "we have not shown our full potential", "still have not been our very best"... etc, etc, etc...
Anyway, YAY England... but suck it up boys... and... ahem... coach of the English team... Where the eff was Crouch today? That's all I have to say on this matter.
And just because I can... here are my current favorite commercials. The crab is kinda random, but you know, so is life.
TTFN,
BP
So, really and truly my life is the FIFA World Cup right now. Other than work being crazy busy, putting my new digs together and trying to re-activate my social life that is. Oh, don't get excited, there's nothing going on on the love front, thus ensuring that 2006 is decidedly neither the Summer, nor the Year of Love when it comes to the old girl. Like, whatever...
And so, like YAY ENGLAND. They keep pulling wins out of their arses, all the while saying that they have more to give... so, like WHEN will they show more? Seriously, this is a question I would like answered. How do you decide that you are going to "give more"... or that we "can do better"... or that "we have not shown our full potential", "still have not been our very best"... etc, etc, etc...
Anyway, YAY England... but suck it up boys... and... ahem... coach of the English team... Where the eff was Crouch today? That's all I have to say on this matter.
And just because I can... here are my current favorite commercials. The crab is kinda random, but you know, so is life.
TTFN,
BP
Monday
Still got the Fever
So,
Bea has finally moved. It’s been 2 days and already I am LOVING it. 10 minutes to work is a beautiful thing.
One thing I am not loving is having no TV until tomorrow… so off to a pub to watch the Hockey Game tonight… and thankfully England did not play this weekend.
Speaking of England, words cannot express how huge of a crush I now have on Peter Crouch. It was one thing when he was just a tall and awkward English footballer… But there are so many other attributes to go along with his talents on the field.
Allow me to introduce Peter Crouch, Robot Dance Master:
Is their nothing sexier than a guy doing the robot? I thought not.
Bea “never, ever let me go to England” Petty
Bea has finally moved. It’s been 2 days and already I am LOVING it. 10 minutes to work is a beautiful thing.
One thing I am not loving is having no TV until tomorrow… so off to a pub to watch the Hockey Game tonight… and thankfully England did not play this weekend.
Speaking of England, words cannot express how huge of a crush I now have on Peter Crouch. It was one thing when he was just a tall and awkward English footballer… But there are so many other attributes to go along with his talents on the field.
Allow me to introduce Peter Crouch, Robot Dance Master:
Is their nothing sexier than a guy doing the robot? I thought not.
Bea “never, ever let me go to England” Petty
Tuesday
Besides the fact that Blogger has been mildly cheesing me off, not a whole lot going on except organizing my move for Saturday, trying to figure out what is going on with a job that I got re-offered but is way beneath my potential and talents and watching the World Cup. Of those three, guess which has been my favorite?
The thing that I have been enjoying the most? Besides being in awe of watching some of nature's finest specimens dance the delicate ballet we call football. Um... yeah, you all know me too well. Why I've been enjoying simply watching the above mentioned specimens of course. They could be standing around the field chewing bubble gum and I would be enthralled.
Watching football/soccer is like watching the pages of a GQ magazine come to life. At this point, I have so many FIFA boyfriends that they cannot be counted on two hands plus a foot. It's a darn good thing that I don't work for FIFA or that the organization is not run by women... Did I say darn good thing? I'll take that back. I think a field full of shirt-less, totally ripped, hot and sweaty men running around for 90 minutes is just what the world needs. That's my story and I am sticking to it...
And just because I can, here are some of my FIFA favorites.
The thing that I have been enjoying the most? Besides being in awe of watching some of nature's finest specimens dance the delicate ballet we call football. Um... yeah, you all know me too well. Why I've been enjoying simply watching the above mentioned specimens of course. They could be standing around the field chewing bubble gum and I would be enthralled.
Watching football/soccer is like watching the pages of a GQ magazine come to life. At this point, I have so many FIFA boyfriends that they cannot be counted on two hands plus a foot. It's a darn good thing that I don't work for FIFA or that the organization is not run by women... Did I say darn good thing? I'll take that back. I think a field full of shirt-less, totally ripped, hot and sweaty men running around for 90 minutes is just what the world needs. That's my story and I am sticking to it...
And just because I can, here are some of my FIFA favorites.
L'il Aussie Hero
Adorable Crouch... can Head like a master... the ball that is!!! Did I mention he is 6'7"?
Ah, Zidane... How could you not love a guy who wears golden shoes?
We all know how I feel about Michael Owen
This is Joe. Bea likes Joe.And for some reason, despite his high voiced metrosexuality, I was still going to include a pic of Beckham... Because he is pretty freaking adorable... But Blogger wouldn't let me, I took that as a sign.
Go England!
Friday
I've Got a Fever
World Cup fever... and this time there is more than just a cowbell that can cure it.
Blogger's been down for me for a couple days... which is probably a good thing because that means that no one could make any comments... because if they had, I am sure someone would have pointed out that I am CLEARLY an idiot.
2 years ago, there was no World Cup. It was the Euro Cup of something like that. How the hell was I supposed to know the difference? But this latest development has me a wee bit frightened. For if Toronto went nuts when it was simply this tournament, a lesser tournament if you will... how will the next month unfold? I can tell you that there was not a seat in the pub we went to at lunch to watch the first match…
Ok, I am sorry but I have to get this off my chest. Feel free to go to a publican house by yourself and only order a water… but when you are taking up a table of 6 so you can watch the game and drink said water and there is a group of 6 who need a table and plan on ordering more than just free nourishment… at least have some consideration for the servers who would much prefer to serve people who will give them tips… and go sit with one of the other 5 guys sitting on their own drinking water and taking up entire tables. It’s an outrage, and OUTRAGE I tell you!
Anyway, I have nothing exciting to report in the least, but thought I would preemptively point out my error before someone else did... Who knew that I could actually be wrong about something? Weird.
Go England!
Blogger's been down for me for a couple days... which is probably a good thing because that means that no one could make any comments... because if they had, I am sure someone would have pointed out that I am CLEARLY an idiot.
2 years ago, there was no World Cup. It was the Euro Cup of something like that. How the hell was I supposed to know the difference? But this latest development has me a wee bit frightened. For if Toronto went nuts when it was simply this tournament, a lesser tournament if you will... how will the next month unfold? I can tell you that there was not a seat in the pub we went to at lunch to watch the first match…
Ok, I am sorry but I have to get this off my chest. Feel free to go to a publican house by yourself and only order a water… but when you are taking up a table of 6 so you can watch the game and drink said water and there is a group of 6 who need a table and plan on ordering more than just free nourishment… at least have some consideration for the servers who would much prefer to serve people who will give them tips… and go sit with one of the other 5 guys sitting on their own drinking water and taking up entire tables. It’s an outrage, and OUTRAGE I tell you!
Anyway, I have nothing exciting to report in the least, but thought I would preemptively point out my error before someone else did... Who knew that I could actually be wrong about something? Weird.
Go England!
Wednesday
Perfection...
Thy name is Michael Owen. Who needs King Beckham of the Metrosexuals when you have MO…
World Cup Soccer is once again upon us and proving once again that betting on sports is the one things that unites the working folk… das office is doing another pool à la March Madness. I think we all know who the old girl will be rooting for in Group B… Merry Olde England of course. They have a pretty good chance of making it past the first round. Not that that would make any difference as to whether I would pick them to do so, but there you have it.
Now, people out West, and I should know because I was once one of them, really don’t follow World Cup Soccer all that much. I think we may have some vague inkling as to when it is on, but only in so far as that pubs tend to be a bit more crowded on a Tuesday than they usually are. But other than that, soccer fever is pretty much non-existent. Imagine my shock when I moved to Toronto in 2004 just as that year’s tournie was kicking off (OMG, I’ve been here 2 years… my how time flies… Happy Anniversary to me). I also just so happened to have moved into a predominantly Portuguese neighbourhood, and for those people living in cities where not a large population of ex-pat Portuguese exists, there are no people who love their ‘football’ more…
Let me take you back to 2004 if I may. T’wasn’t into the whole tournament so much. I was mostly jumping from couch to couch until the loft was ready and looking for a job. You know, fun things of that nature, but when I did finally move into da’ hood I noticed the jubilant nature of the folks living therein. “What a happy bunch” I remembered thinking. Happy indeed for Portugal was kicking in the tournament and one could scarcely come or go in the evening without seeing everyone and their dog sitting outside on their front porches waving flags or hugging their neighbours. Also impossible to miss was the honking of flag-adorned cars around our little block after a victorious Portugal vs. whatever losing team. This was my first introduction into the world of the Portuguese football fans… Needless to say when away I went for the Canada Day long weekend with no access to a TV or radio to hear the outcome of the Portugal vs. Greece final, I was anxious to get home to see whether or not I would be able to sleep that night. I did not need to wait until I returned home to find out what the outcome had been.
For just as the triumphant Portuguese fans would stream out into the streets when their team was victorious, so too would they react when not. I am hear to tell you folks that I still have yet to recover from the complete and utter display of sadness and melancholy… the disappointment people, that had befallen my hitherto jubilant friends. People were sitting on their porches, heads hanging down, shaking in disbelief…Neighbours were comforting other neighbours, some crying, some not…There was no need to rush back home to hear the outcome, it was there in plain site. Oh, the humanity. Needless to say over on the Greek side of town, known as The Danforth, where I discovered that my life had been incomplete until I tasted Saganaki… oh, the wonder of fried cheese… the mood was decidedly more euphoric.
Cut to this year and while I am in the midst of a move, and possibly looking for new employment… meaning that sadly not much has changed in two years… that still does not mean that I don’t give a care… and of course, when there is money involved, I can give a care about just about anything… And give a care I do.
Want to know a few other things I give a care about?
1) England
2) Rooting for England the World Cup as they may have a chance to make it past the second round
3) Not having to root for England in the aforementioned predominantly Portuguese neighbourhood where a) there is nowhere to actually watch any games except those little speak easies that most crack-whores will not even enter and b) if there were any respectable establishments in which to watch the matches the fact that I am NOT rooting for Portugal would most decidedly cause me no small degree of bodily harm
4) I work next door to what is the place to go for English football… at any time if the year. I never knew that a place like this existed, but it’s the sort of establishment that opens itself up to hard-core ex-pat British football fans up 6am on a Saturday morning so that those fans, who, being British after all, have more than likely been out drinking until the wee hours of the morning but STILL will wake up at 5am in order to get there early to make sure that get a seat… and a beer… for 6am… on a Saturday. Anyway, so I work right next door… It’s perfect.
5) Soccer Hotties. Second only to… hmmm… actually, soccer players are second to no one. Soccer Hotties.
Bea “Hooligan in disguise” Petty
Tuesday
A Funny Thing Happened...
On the way to posting today... I'll post what I wrote today tomorrow... but sadly, just as I was getting ready to go online... I was unexpectedly and more than mildly sickened by the news that I was totally screwed over by work today...
In a nutshell, I was so screwed over that IF by such fortunate happenstance I actually get offered the position that I was already offered but which has now been demoted and being posted externally so that I now have to apply and interview for like any random idiot who has not been in a higher level position with said organization for the past few years... that truly there is no chance that I could possibly work for an organization who would treat a valued employee in this manner.
I take comfort in the fact that once I leave no one will have an iota of a clue as to how things work there. I know that sounds odd and really conceited... but note to employers... try not to only have a contract employee be the only one who actually knows how to make your organization function... I'm just sayin'.
Stay tuned for today's tomorrow post: a hilarious commentary on the FIFA World Cup championship... whose work pool I am in... but will likely not even be around to reap the rewards of victorious participation therein.
Bea "Back to BC with my tail between my legs? Perhaps" Petty
In a nutshell, I was so screwed over that IF by such fortunate happenstance I actually get offered the position that I was already offered but which has now been demoted and being posted externally so that I now have to apply and interview for like any random idiot who has not been in a higher level position with said organization for the past few years... that truly there is no chance that I could possibly work for an organization who would treat a valued employee in this manner.
I take comfort in the fact that once I leave no one will have an iota of a clue as to how things work there. I know that sounds odd and really conceited... but note to employers... try not to only have a contract employee be the only one who actually knows how to make your organization function... I'm just sayin'.
Stay tuned for today's tomorrow post: a hilarious commentary on the FIFA World Cup championship... whose work pool I am in... but will likely not even be around to reap the rewards of victorious participation therein.
Bea "Back to BC with my tail between my legs? Perhaps" Petty
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)