Well certainly not me. I'm great at video games. I won't lie. I have been known to pop a game in when I wake up on a drizzly Saturday... you know, to kill some time while I am having my coffee, only to look up at 6pm and wonder where the day went... But I could never understand the appeal of the pinball machine... Anyway, whatever... that has nothing whatsoever to this entry.
So last Sunday was an interesting day. A phone call from a friend who I had not heard from in a very long time. I think we ladies all know the type of gentleman friend who calls out of the blue and it leaves you wondering just what in the world happened that day that brought you to the top of their mind? I have a few of those in my life. I find it highly amusing. So over to hang out I got ready to go when lo and behold, my phone rang...
"Bea, what are you doing tomorrow night?"
Pause...
I have to admit that I dislike those types of questions. What to say? Because the end result can be good. But it can also be bad. For example:
"BEA, what are you doing tomorrow night?"
"Nothing, why?"
"I was wondering if you wouldn't mind helping me clean my septic tank."
See what I mean? So it was with great trepidation that I answered 'Nothing that I can think of.". See? See how I left myself a possible out? So that in the event my chum were to ask me to help clean her septic tank I could come back with "Oh, shoot, you know what? I'd love to but I just remembered that I have this thing at the thing..."
Luckily for BEA, the offer was less about septic tanks than it was about free tickets to see The Who the next night. Sufficed to say my answer was more along the lines of "Are you f*cking kidding?!?! Like, yah, I'm all over that sh*t." Or something like that... probably more along the lines of "Yes, I think that would be a rather pleasant way to spend the evening. Thank you very much for your kind and generous offer."
So I was excited. I'm not a huge Who fan mind you. I don't not like their music but never went out of my way to buy albums or anything like that. So I was excited, mostly because the ticket was free and free tickets, to pretty much anything, are always exciting.
But oh my god... Come concert time? I lost my she*T... Seriously. We had great seats just to the right of the stage so we could see both Daltrey and Townshend quite clearly. And in the words of my favorite celebrity gossiper Lainey... LOIN QUIVERING. Who knew that I could go from loving 6'7" 25 year old soccer player one day, to loving a 5'6" 62 rock and or roller the next? I'm sure I didn't.
Loved it... Anyway, back to loving my PC now, but it was touch and go for a few days there. I'm sure PC is relieved. Although probably more relieved that I will be pretty much as far away from him as humanly possibly in less than a week, for back to the rock that is Saltspring I go. Looking forward to nursing my back, which has left me practically couchbound these last couple of months... and nursing my sinuses, which have left me wanting to be bedbound for much of the same time. Good times.
Now I wonder which of the 2 pubs on Saltspring is the soccer pub? Hmmm... guess I better start researching lest I go into withdrawls.
Bea
Saturday
Friday
Gentle Giant My Ass
So I am considering turning BP into the unofficial Peter Crouch appreciation site. I can’t help it. Ok, so it’s mostly because of late I have had nothing going on in my life, especially in the love department, but all that aside, I truly do no know what to do. The only thing keeping me from stalking the poor guy is a small little detail known as the Atlantic Ocean… also a few little minor provinces to the east of me, but mostly the ocean. And money… OK, so three things, but all quite major obstacles along the path of uniting me with my one true love. So what if he is like 6 years younger than me. It’s not like I have never dated a guy several and I do mean several, years my junior… and to wonderfully amazing consequences… just ask my boobies… Anyway, I digress…
During Wednesday’s game, some Jerky McJerk decided to be a jerk to my Peter. And my Peter doesn’t stand for that kaka. Granted the poor guy is all skin and bones and his arm would more than likely snap off were he to get physical with a foe… but why would he even bother with the physical? Why would he bother when he can turn around and simply scare the living sh*t out of those who choose to underestimate the awesomeness of the greatest thing to hit Liverpool since The Beatles?
The answer?
He doesn’t.
During Wednesday’s game, some Jerky McJerk decided to be a jerk to my Peter. And my Peter doesn’t stand for that kaka. Granted the poor guy is all skin and bones and his arm would more than likely snap off were he to get physical with a foe… but why would he even bother with the physical? Why would he bother when he can turn around and simply scare the living sh*t out of those who choose to underestimate the awesomeness of the greatest thing to hit Liverpool since The Beatles?
The answer?
He doesn’t.
Monday
Praise be the lord
OK,So pretty much the most hilarious thing that I have seen in about 5 minutes was delivered to my inbox courtesy of my English Chemist.
Yes friends, t'is a glorious day. The world is now officially perfect. For in no other world but a perfect world could you get a Peter Crouch mask.
Oh yeah, I was soooo all over this today. I was so all over it that I damn near fell off my chair when I saw it and then walked around the office with barely able to contain my titillation... to the point where people must have thought I had just downed some 'shrooms or something.
And before you ask YES I did print it up on the colour printer at work and I will fight you to the DEATH if you were to argue that it is not the most appropriate use of the colour printer.
What was a girl supposed to do?
Friday
Extra, Extra... Read
In what I consider to be THE most groundbreaking story of the year, trumping TomKat, Britney and K-Fed, Reese and Ryan and yes, even Madonna’s adoption…
I have recently discovered something about myself that I never knew was possible. To put it bluntly, I am now a naked sleeper.
Shocked? So am I. In real life, I am what is known as a “prude.” Prudes shun nudity in any shape or form. To put this into perspective, it took me like 6 months to wear something other than a one piece bathing suit when I worked at Club Med. And it wasn’t because I thought I would look fat or anything like that. It was purely because in my prudish mind, only whores wore bikinis… Granted all of my friends wore bikinis but I considered them whores, ever last one of them. I broke down eventually because believe it or not, it is possible to be too hot wearing a one piece bathing suit. If anyone has ever experienced Mexico in the middle of summer, this might make sense. So eventually I broke down and got myself some two-pieced numbers and never looked back. Sufficed to say that I quickly changed my opinion that only whores wore bikinis… I may be a floozy at times, but I am no whore…
But still, nudity made me uncomfortable. And of course the Universe has always thought it would be freaking hilarious to consistently throw naked-loving boyfriends my way. It’s true… my memory cannot come up with one single one, short or long-term, who was not more comfortable in their altogether. I am convinced that even the former-PNB was a closet nudist and only put clothes on for my benefit… To the fly on the wall we must have looked like an odd couple indeed when heading to bed… him naked as a jay bird and me wearing as much clothing as humanly possible short of a winter coat and a toque.
But that was then. And this is now.
Now happened a couple of weeks ago when, after gracefully returning to my abode after an evening of having some leisurely drinks with friends, I was just tired too find my pajamas. Feel free to read “too tired” as “too drunk” because that may or may not have been the case… but whatever. So too “tired” I was and to sleep I went. Feel free to read “to sleep” as “passed out” because that may or may not have been the case…. but whatever. The POINT I am trying to make has nothing whatsoever to do with the amount of alcohol that may or may not have been consumed but rather the end result of having (or not) consumed (or not) large quantities of booze (or not) which was that due to the fact that I may have possibly (or not) been too tired to find my bed clothes that I was forced to sleep (or pass out) in my birthday suit. Or not.
And? So?
Well, it turns out that sleeping starkers is quite the way to go. I can’t remember having been so comfortable lying between the sheets. I’m not hot, nor am I cold but more importantly there is nothing there to get bunched up, if you get my drift. I never realized that I spent a goodly portion of my night fidgeting with my pajama pants which always twisted and bunched up as I flopped around in my restlessness. Was this the sole reason behind my lifelong propensity for insomnia? Well, no, of course not, but I would be lying that even removing just one factor out of the equation has led to more than a few slightly more restful nights than usual. Something to be celebrated to be sure!
Anyway, I just thought that I would share that with you… You know, being pretty much the most earth-shattering news ever to have come from Humankind, ever, in the history of this planet we call Earth.
I have recently discovered something about myself that I never knew was possible. To put it bluntly, I am now a naked sleeper.
Shocked? So am I. In real life, I am what is known as a “prude.” Prudes shun nudity in any shape or form. To put this into perspective, it took me like 6 months to wear something other than a one piece bathing suit when I worked at Club Med. And it wasn’t because I thought I would look fat or anything like that. It was purely because in my prudish mind, only whores wore bikinis… Granted all of my friends wore bikinis but I considered them whores, ever last one of them. I broke down eventually because believe it or not, it is possible to be too hot wearing a one piece bathing suit. If anyone has ever experienced Mexico in the middle of summer, this might make sense. So eventually I broke down and got myself some two-pieced numbers and never looked back. Sufficed to say that I quickly changed my opinion that only whores wore bikinis… I may be a floozy at times, but I am no whore…
But still, nudity made me uncomfortable. And of course the Universe has always thought it would be freaking hilarious to consistently throw naked-loving boyfriends my way. It’s true… my memory cannot come up with one single one, short or long-term, who was not more comfortable in their altogether. I am convinced that even the former-PNB was a closet nudist and only put clothes on for my benefit… To the fly on the wall we must have looked like an odd couple indeed when heading to bed… him naked as a jay bird and me wearing as much clothing as humanly possible short of a winter coat and a toque.
But that was then. And this is now.
Now happened a couple of weeks ago when, after gracefully returning to my abode after an evening of having some leisurely drinks with friends, I was just tired too find my pajamas. Feel free to read “too tired” as “too drunk” because that may or may not have been the case… but whatever. So too “tired” I was and to sleep I went. Feel free to read “to sleep” as “passed out” because that may or may not have been the case…. but whatever. The POINT I am trying to make has nothing whatsoever to do with the amount of alcohol that may or may not have been consumed but rather the end result of having (or not) consumed (or not) large quantities of booze (or not) which was that due to the fact that I may have possibly (or not) been too tired to find my bed clothes that I was forced to sleep (or pass out) in my birthday suit. Or not.
And? So?
Well, it turns out that sleeping starkers is quite the way to go. I can’t remember having been so comfortable lying between the sheets. I’m not hot, nor am I cold but more importantly there is nothing there to get bunched up, if you get my drift. I never realized that I spent a goodly portion of my night fidgeting with my pajama pants which always twisted and bunched up as I flopped around in my restlessness. Was this the sole reason behind my lifelong propensity for insomnia? Well, no, of course not, but I would be lying that even removing just one factor out of the equation has led to more than a few slightly more restful nights than usual. Something to be celebrated to be sure!
Anyway, I just thought that I would share that with you… You know, being pretty much the most earth-shattering news ever to have come from Humankind, ever, in the history of this planet we call Earth.
Is it Christmas yet?
Wow,
I cant' believe it's been like 3 weeks since I've posted. Not that I actually have anything new to report in those three weeks... Well, I do but no one wants to hear Bea go on feeling sorry for herself. Bea doesn't even want to her herself go on about how she is feeling sorry for herself. No, instead Bea would like to talk about herself in the third person as if that was entirely normal thing for someone to do.
So, in a nutshell, Bea's been out of sorts. Back issues, as well as sinuses and now the flu, Bea has not been feeling her best. And of course, as always, ye olde love life is still as disastrous as ever, with Bea making a fool out of herself over a boy yet again. Sigh, Bea is so silly.
One good thing is that work finally got of their arses and decided that the old girl was worth keeping around so yay, being moved around a la Office Space Swingline Stapler Guy aside, that is definitely something to be joyous about one supposes.
In conclusion, Bea's got some sh*t to sort out and she expects that a fair bit of it will get done when she visits the folks for the holidays next month. Bea has also been on lots of muscle relaxants and thinks that may have addled her brain just a tad. It might SEEM amusing to listen to her refer to herself in the third person on a short little blog posting but imagine how the TTC guy must feel when she tries to get onto the subway.
'She would like 10 tokens please'
It also causes problems when ordering at restaurants and when responding to emails at work, as I am sure you can well imagine. Let's all send happy thoughts Bea's way so she can get past this slight rough patch.
Cheerio, pip-pip and all that fun stuff
Bea
I cant' believe it's been like 3 weeks since I've posted. Not that I actually have anything new to report in those three weeks... Well, I do but no one wants to hear Bea go on feeling sorry for herself. Bea doesn't even want to her herself go on about how she is feeling sorry for herself. No, instead Bea would like to talk about herself in the third person as if that was entirely normal thing for someone to do.
So, in a nutshell, Bea's been out of sorts. Back issues, as well as sinuses and now the flu, Bea has not been feeling her best. And of course, as always, ye olde love life is still as disastrous as ever, with Bea making a fool out of herself over a boy yet again. Sigh, Bea is so silly.
One good thing is that work finally got of their arses and decided that the old girl was worth keeping around so yay, being moved around a la Office Space Swingline Stapler Guy aside, that is definitely something to be joyous about one supposes.
In conclusion, Bea's got some sh*t to sort out and she expects that a fair bit of it will get done when she visits the folks for the holidays next month. Bea has also been on lots of muscle relaxants and thinks that may have addled her brain just a tad. It might SEEM amusing to listen to her refer to herself in the third person on a short little blog posting but imagine how the TTC guy must feel when she tries to get onto the subway.
'She would like 10 tokens please'
It also causes problems when ordering at restaurants and when responding to emails at work, as I am sure you can well imagine. Let's all send happy thoughts Bea's way so she can get past this slight rough patch.
Cheerio, pip-pip and all that fun stuff
Bea
Monday
To Laugh or Not to Laugh
OK,
So we all know that I am single. And we all know that I am sort of mostly OK with being single. But sometimes a truly unique experience gets thrown my way whereby part of me laughs hysterically to the point that I have to run to the bathroom lest I tinkle on the couch... and the other part sobs like a little girly-man at my lot in life re: my love-life situation.
Something that may not be as well known as my lot in life is that I LOVE Borat. I saw the movie ages ago and it was like, the funniest thing ever. After watch the movie film I speak like Borat for many days. You like?
The following is a copy and paste of an e-mail I got on my soon-becoming-not-so-favorite online dating site. HOPEFULLY you are familiar with Borat and read the following in his voice. If not then it makes the following not so much hysterically funny as it does pathetic and sad. And by pathetic and sad, I am referring to my life...
i need date from you, im loving caring respecting guy
i give pure love , i dont hurt my girl at all
i m alone without partner for more than one year becouse of my travel.(No sex too becsue its not my target)
i need girl to be my love forever
i wish she is you
tell me something about you
are u really single?
tell me about ur study or work.
tell me about ur family,your life,when it was last time for you with man in relation,last time u had sex.,kind of places u like to go??
give me your mail to add you plz?!!
I should mention here that is particular fella, who had no pic and listed his height as smaller than 5 feet, had the following three interests: friends, sex, reading.
In that order.
I like reading too.
So we all know that I am single. And we all know that I am sort of mostly OK with being single. But sometimes a truly unique experience gets thrown my way whereby part of me laughs hysterically to the point that I have to run to the bathroom lest I tinkle on the couch... and the other part sobs like a little girly-man at my lot in life re: my love-life situation.
Something that may not be as well known as my lot in life is that I LOVE Borat. I saw the movie ages ago and it was like, the funniest thing ever. After watch the movie film I speak like Borat for many days. You like?
The following is a copy and paste of an e-mail I got on my soon-becoming-not-so-favorite online dating site. HOPEFULLY you are familiar with Borat and read the following in his voice. If not then it makes the following not so much hysterically funny as it does pathetic and sad. And by pathetic and sad, I am referring to my life...
i need date from you, im loving caring respecting guy
i give pure love , i dont hurt my girl at all
i m alone without partner for more than one year becouse of my travel.(No sex too becsue its not my target)
i need girl to be my love forever
i wish she is you
tell me something about you
are u really single?
tell me about ur study or work.
tell me about ur family,your life,when it was last time for you with man in relation,last time u had sex.,kind of places u like to go??
give me your mail to add you plz?!!
I should mention here that is particular fella, who had no pic and listed his height as smaller than 5 feet, had the following three interests: friends, sex, reading.
In that order.
I like reading too.
Tuesday
To Move Or Not to Move...
That is the Tuesday...
Please find following a diagram that, for the most part, sums up my day.
To Whom It May Concern;
Please accept this letter of introduction as my intent to apply for the position of *insert job title here*.Currently I am employed as the chief ass wipe at the *insert company here* but increasingly, I am beginning to question whether my employer values my skills or the importance I play in the day to day operations of my department. Although probably not the most appropriate place to bring this up, I would like to mention here that I am pretty much the only person at said organization who knows how to do anything. End of story. But do they listen to me when I try to tell them this? I think we both know the answer to that.
However, my reasons for wishing to leave are thus. Firstly I will no longer have access to natural light. This, in essence will cause me to wilt away and, I am quite positive, die. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, they have taken away my red Swingline stapler. I had rightfully swiped this stapler from the office of the last person to be "restructured" out of a job and I say FINDERS KEEPERS and I refuse to be a loser weeper dammitt. That stapler is rightfully mine and I will shoot staples at you to the death, to the DEATH if you try and take it away from me. And believe me, I will not come out on the losing end. SUCH, is the power of the Swingline stapler.
In conclusion, I thank you, in advance, for considering me for the position of *insert job title here*. If I may be so bold as to suggest that we not even bother with the preliminary interviews and that instead you just make things easier on everyone and go ahead and offer me the position now. $90,000 per annum should do it. Oh, plus benefits, expenses and company car etc... References available upon request, unless of course you are actually going to phone them and then screw you... I do not want to work for any company who does not trust me.
Sincerely,
Beatrice Petty
PS... 4 weeks of holiday is also a must.
Please find following a diagram that, for the most part, sums up my day.
To Whom It May Concern;
Please accept this letter of introduction as my intent to apply for the position of *insert job title here*.Currently I am employed as the chief ass wipe at the *insert company here* but increasingly, I am beginning to question whether my employer values my skills or the importance I play in the day to day operations of my department. Although probably not the most appropriate place to bring this up, I would like to mention here that I am pretty much the only person at said organization who knows how to do anything. End of story. But do they listen to me when I try to tell them this? I think we both know the answer to that.
However, my reasons for wishing to leave are thus. Firstly I will no longer have access to natural light. This, in essence will cause me to wilt away and, I am quite positive, die. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, they have taken away my red Swingline stapler. I had rightfully swiped this stapler from the office of the last person to be "restructured" out of a job and I say FINDERS KEEPERS and I refuse to be a loser weeper dammitt. That stapler is rightfully mine and I will shoot staples at you to the death, to the DEATH if you try and take it away from me. And believe me, I will not come out on the losing end. SUCH, is the power of the Swingline stapler.
In conclusion, I thank you, in advance, for considering me for the position of *insert job title here*. If I may be so bold as to suggest that we not even bother with the preliminary interviews and that instead you just make things easier on everyone and go ahead and offer me the position now. $90,000 per annum should do it. Oh, plus benefits, expenses and company car etc... References available upon request, unless of course you are actually going to phone them and then screw you... I do not want to work for any company who does not trust me.
Sincerely,
Beatrice Petty
PS... 4 weeks of holiday is also a must.
Monday
My Bad
OK,
So further to several postings that I have made over the course of the three years or so I have been writing this danged thing... I am the biggest and most clueless idiot ever.
So not only was I completely wrong about the Scotsman maybe wanting to be more than just friends... Apparently I was wrong about him wanting to be friends at all, or even casual acquaintances, chat buddies...anything. In short, I was wrong about him even admitting that he knew who I was after we met... And NO... no funny business happened. If it did, I could at least have understood the complete and utter lack of acknowledgment that I even existed. How does someone go from being infatuated with someone one minute, to hanging out and simply watching TV the next... to never wanting to speak to that someone ever again ever for as long as they both shall live?
Will I ever understand men? Me thinks not. But then again, that's why I am single.
So further to several postings that I have made over the course of the three years or so I have been writing this danged thing... I am the biggest and most clueless idiot ever.
So not only was I completely wrong about the Scotsman maybe wanting to be more than just friends... Apparently I was wrong about him wanting to be friends at all, or even casual acquaintances, chat buddies...anything. In short, I was wrong about him even admitting that he knew who I was after we met... And NO... no funny business happened. If it did, I could at least have understood the complete and utter lack of acknowledgment that I even existed. How does someone go from being infatuated with someone one minute, to hanging out and simply watching TV the next... to never wanting to speak to that someone ever again ever for as long as they both shall live?
Will I ever understand men? Me thinks not. But then again, that's why I am single.
Thursday
A Funny Thing Happened...
On the way to making friends. So it turns out that my wee Scottish laddie and I are MFEO, whereby MFEO means that we pretty much have everything in common, but enough not in common to make things interesting. Whether that translates into something more than friends remains to be seen but we may be on the way to something a little more. Who knew that ‘friends’ plus ‘hang out’ could equal ‘dating’? We hung out last night for the first time. Watched some vids at his place which I know seems quite like a bad idea to do with someone who you have never met in person, but honestly, I can’t remember the last time someone had seemed so familiar to me. So really, I felt like I was spending time with someone whom I had known for ages. It was truly the most bizarre thing.
Another bizarre thing, somewhat but mostly completely unrelated, is living once again in a neighbourhood where I actually know people. No longer is heading anywhere after work a production… no subways or buses… literally a 5 minute walk, at the most, to pretty much anywhere I might want to go. Such is the case with Scottie. The only downside being that where I would practically prepare to be away from the loft for days at a time when I went out, now I barely bother to even put on anything besides flip flops because it feels like I am just jotting next door to the neighbours to borrow some sugar. The only downside to this, as far as I can see and in fact happened last night, was that one might forget to bring some quite useful things along with one when one leaves the house. Things that were one traveling quite far would surely take in certain circumstances.
For example, if one was planning on walking far from one's home for long distances on a dismal October evening one would surely take along, say, perhaps a coat. And should that particular evening have been preceded by one of the rainiest days in recent memory with the weather folks only omising more, one might also think that an umbrella was a good thing. For while it may not be pishing when one leaves one’s own place it very well possibly be raining when one left someone else’s place in a few hours time. And even though one might only live a very short distance away from someone else, even walking 5 minutes with no coat in the pouring rain at 12:30am would still be enough to soak oneself, leaving said person looking like a drowned rat.
Lesson learned? Probably not. But then again, sometimes one has a hard time learning from one's mistakes and one repeats them over and over and over again… which one might do the very next time one leaves one’s house on a dismal October evening that threatens rain with no coat or brelly to go over to someone’s house that one has never even met.
Another bizarre thing, somewhat but mostly completely unrelated, is living once again in a neighbourhood where I actually know people. No longer is heading anywhere after work a production… no subways or buses… literally a 5 minute walk, at the most, to pretty much anywhere I might want to go. Such is the case with Scottie. The only downside being that where I would practically prepare to be away from the loft for days at a time when I went out, now I barely bother to even put on anything besides flip flops because it feels like I am just jotting next door to the neighbours to borrow some sugar. The only downside to this, as far as I can see and in fact happened last night, was that one might forget to bring some quite useful things along with one when one leaves the house. Things that were one traveling quite far would surely take in certain circumstances.
For example, if one was planning on walking far from one's home for long distances on a dismal October evening one would surely take along, say, perhaps a coat. And should that particular evening have been preceded by one of the rainiest days in recent memory with the weather folks only omising more, one might also think that an umbrella was a good thing. For while it may not be pishing when one leaves one’s own place it very well possibly be raining when one left someone else’s place in a few hours time. And even though one might only live a very short distance away from someone else, even walking 5 minutes with no coat in the pouring rain at 12:30am would still be enough to soak oneself, leaving said person looking like a drowned rat.
Lesson learned? Probably not. But then again, sometimes one has a hard time learning from one's mistakes and one repeats them over and over and over again… which one might do the very next time one leaves one’s house on a dismal October evening that threatens rain with no coat or brelly to go over to someone’s house that one has never even met.
Tuesday
Cross-Dressers and Scotsmen
Hope everyone’s turkey weekend was great! I am happy to report that in addition to hobbling around the mini-apartment, I was able to gimpily make my way to a pub down the street to watch my boyfriend play against Macedonia. A few thing things to note, besides chastising someone for dissing my Peter… Ok, so he mostly just heads the ball but he can’t help it so shut the hell up (making friends is fun)… The first being that despite the former-PNB telling me that this particular establishment was a dive and that I should never ever go… it was not, in fact a dive. Proof positive that one should never take anyone’s word for gospel, especially former-pnbs.
The other thing to note, perhaps the more important of the two, is that in addition to be the only female in a see of fun-living and beer-drinking at noon on a Saturday… about 90% of these gents were of the British persuasion. I felt like I was in pig heaven albeit slightly saddened that I had waited until now to attend a game there… words for gospel… former-pnb… blah blah blah…
So that was exciting and well worth the 10$ places such as these charge to watch games. We didn’t win but I got my Peter Crouch fix which should tide me over for the next little while.
And now, to more important things… Me. More specifically me and dating. There hasn’t been anything new to report because, well… there has been nothing new to report. I’ve met a couple of people but no one really outstanding save for the short and bald English dude who, quite frankly, I never would have given a second thought were it not for the fact that he was English. There was a guy who seemed quite promising however I could not seem to get it through his head that taking naked pictures of himself and offering to send them to me was a huge turnoff. Nor was wanting to see naked pictures of yours truly going to happen either.
By way of background, I have no issues with people who take nude pictures of themselves, or who like to take nude pictures of their significant other. I myself am just not into these sort of behaviours. This is mostly/ entirely due to my oh-so-prudish nature. Also, I get cold without any clothes on so sitting there waiting for someone to take my picture in the buff just doesn’t work for this reason alone… but it’s mostly because I am a prude and proud of it. I also don’t want to see pictures of myself on the internet. Nor do I want to have said person send these pictures to others in his acquaintance. You might laugh at that but I have this friend. I love him to death, but he’s a bit of a dirty bird and while I may not agree with some of the things that he chooses to do in his life, I love and support him no matter what. But because of this friend I have seen more naked web cam pictures of girls than I would care to admit and I am sure, if anyone were to steal my computer and open my received files, they would probably assume that they had stolen the computer of a lesbian. A lesbian addicted to cybersex. So a bit of advice to those who engage in this sort of behaviour, especially women. You can rest assured that the person with whom you are engaging in this act with will almost definitely pass the pics along to someone else in their circle of friends. In fact, I may have already seen your naked ass…
Ok, so enough about me being more prude than a Catholic nun… So buh-bye naked pic guy… Next…
Next was Samantha. Samantha was a cross-dresser and a very beautiful one at that. It’s amazing how some make-up, a wig and some girl’s clothing can turn even the most masculine of men into a very feminine and attractive woman. I had to give this gentleman props about his honesty and truth be told, I am more open to dating a man who likes to wear women’s undies every now and again than one who likes to take and exchange nudie pictures. But… well, in the end it's not really my thing either. Thank goodness Samantha was not English otherwise I would have had quite the dilemma on my hands.
So after my heavenly afternoon spent in the company of English football hooligans, being wooed by a naked lawyer and very gentlemanly cross-dresser, I decided to once again take a break from dating. Not to say that I do not want to meet people, but not for dating. At least not like this… The great thing about this particular site is that you have several options to chose, not just dating, or relationship… you can dabble in ‘intimate encounters’ or ‘other relationship’, which I have never understood because you also have ‘friends’, ‘hang out’, ‘activity partner’ and ‘talk/e-mail’. I honestly cannot figure out what ‘other relationship’ entails so if anyone can shed some light on this that would be great! this may or may not have something to do with the fact that prudish people do not engage in 'other relation ships'.
So ‘friends’ it is. And the outcome? Well, I would be lying if I did not mention that I spent the better part of yesterday speaking with a Scottish chappy who lives but a block away from me who is also looking for people to hang with. Sigh, it’s been ages since I’ve been blessed with a wee Scottish brogue. I’ve been promised the opportunity to meet more expats in the near future and have returned to pig heaven from whence I came earlier in the weekend… or brogue heaven as the case may be.
Stay tuned for news at 11
The other thing to note, perhaps the more important of the two, is that in addition to be the only female in a see of fun-living and beer-drinking at noon on a Saturday… about 90% of these gents were of the British persuasion. I felt like I was in pig heaven albeit slightly saddened that I had waited until now to attend a game there… words for gospel… former-pnb… blah blah blah…
So that was exciting and well worth the 10$ places such as these charge to watch games. We didn’t win but I got my Peter Crouch fix which should tide me over for the next little while.
And now, to more important things… Me. More specifically me and dating. There hasn’t been anything new to report because, well… there has been nothing new to report. I’ve met a couple of people but no one really outstanding save for the short and bald English dude who, quite frankly, I never would have given a second thought were it not for the fact that he was English. There was a guy who seemed quite promising however I could not seem to get it through his head that taking naked pictures of himself and offering to send them to me was a huge turnoff. Nor was wanting to see naked pictures of yours truly going to happen either.
By way of background, I have no issues with people who take nude pictures of themselves, or who like to take nude pictures of their significant other. I myself am just not into these sort of behaviours. This is mostly/ entirely due to my oh-so-prudish nature. Also, I get cold without any clothes on so sitting there waiting for someone to take my picture in the buff just doesn’t work for this reason alone… but it’s mostly because I am a prude and proud of it. I also don’t want to see pictures of myself on the internet. Nor do I want to have said person send these pictures to others in his acquaintance. You might laugh at that but I have this friend. I love him to death, but he’s a bit of a dirty bird and while I may not agree with some of the things that he chooses to do in his life, I love and support him no matter what. But because of this friend I have seen more naked web cam pictures of girls than I would care to admit and I am sure, if anyone were to steal my computer and open my received files, they would probably assume that they had stolen the computer of a lesbian. A lesbian addicted to cybersex. So a bit of advice to those who engage in this sort of behaviour, especially women. You can rest assured that the person with whom you are engaging in this act with will almost definitely pass the pics along to someone else in their circle of friends. In fact, I may have already seen your naked ass…
Ok, so enough about me being more prude than a Catholic nun… So buh-bye naked pic guy… Next…
Next was Samantha. Samantha was a cross-dresser and a very beautiful one at that. It’s amazing how some make-up, a wig and some girl’s clothing can turn even the most masculine of men into a very feminine and attractive woman. I had to give this gentleman props about his honesty and truth be told, I am more open to dating a man who likes to wear women’s undies every now and again than one who likes to take and exchange nudie pictures. But… well, in the end it's not really my thing either. Thank goodness Samantha was not English otherwise I would have had quite the dilemma on my hands.
So after my heavenly afternoon spent in the company of English football hooligans, being wooed by a naked lawyer and very gentlemanly cross-dresser, I decided to once again take a break from dating. Not to say that I do not want to meet people, but not for dating. At least not like this… The great thing about this particular site is that you have several options to chose, not just dating, or relationship… you can dabble in ‘intimate encounters’ or ‘other relationship’, which I have never understood because you also have ‘friends’, ‘hang out’, ‘activity partner’ and ‘talk/e-mail’. I honestly cannot figure out what ‘other relationship’ entails so if anyone can shed some light on this that would be great! this may or may not have something to do with the fact that prudish people do not engage in 'other relation ships'.
So ‘friends’ it is. And the outcome? Well, I would be lying if I did not mention that I spent the better part of yesterday speaking with a Scottish chappy who lives but a block away from me who is also looking for people to hang with. Sigh, it’s been ages since I’ve been blessed with a wee Scottish brogue. I’ve been promised the opportunity to meet more expats in the near future and have returned to pig heaven from whence I came earlier in the weekend… or brogue heaven as the case may be.
Stay tuned for news at 11
Friday
Hob, Hob, Hobbling Along
Happy Turkey Weekend all… Especially to my good friend Wee who is tying the knot this weekend in Vancouver. Work commitments left me unable to attend originally but those have since been usurped by ‘Back Healing' commitments.
I envision this weekend to go something like this:
3am - Awoken by Hugh who still deems 3am as an acceptable time to play
5am - Fall back asleep
7am – Awoken by Hugh… again, but this time with string in tow. I will rue the day I taught him to play fetch.
8am – Fall back asleep… again
9am - Wake up, this time without help from Hugh. Hugh fast asleep. Take advantage of cat nap (literally) to make up for lost sleep during the night
9:30-11am - Get out of bed at some point... Hobble to the washroom… Hobble to the couch…
5pm - Hobble off the couch to make dinner
5:30pm - Hobble back to couch
10pm- Hobble to bed
Repeat as necessary
Good Times
I envision this weekend to go something like this:
3am - Awoken by Hugh who still deems 3am as an acceptable time to play
5am - Fall back asleep
7am – Awoken by Hugh… again, but this time with string in tow. I will rue the day I taught him to play fetch.
8am – Fall back asleep… again
9am - Wake up, this time without help from Hugh. Hugh fast asleep. Take advantage of cat nap (literally) to make up for lost sleep during the night
9:30-11am - Get out of bed at some point... Hobble to the washroom… Hobble to the couch…
5pm - Hobble off the couch to make dinner
5:30pm - Hobble back to couch
10pm- Hobble to bed
Repeat as necessary
Good Times
Thursday
It's a Bird... It's a Plane...
Hello Friends,
In honour of the fact that I have joined a recreational soccer league (I choose not to go into the details of how I am working from home the past two days because my body does not enjoy playing soccer as much as the rest of me does...).
So it's been a while since I have mentioned by favorite FIFA, now FA boyfriend, Peter Crouch.
Below is a little show-and-tell I would like to present to you. Call it an Ode to Crouchie if you will. Here are some pics from the latest Champions League Liverpool versus some Turkish team that starts with a G and kind of sounds like Galapagos.
For people even newer to "football" than I am, city specific teams play in leagues in their own country, but they also play teams from other cities throughout Europe and can win both their country's league as well as the European league... and this is not to be confused with the Euro Cup, nor the World Cup. Make sense? Hence why Liverpool can play a Turkish team whose name sounds somewhat like a group of islands studied at length by one Charles Darwin. Or something like that.
Anyway, thanks to Getty for letting me lift images from their site. I promise that these images will be used strictly for educational purposes, in that they will be used to educate the people as to the amazing awesomeness of the tallest footballer in all the land. Peter, call me...
Here he is with the look of dogged determination on his face. How cute is that?
Here's my future husband doing who knows what with his body. He's pretty agile for a guy who is tall enough to reach up and touch the moon. I will ask you to take note at the fear that PC inspires in the Galapagos player. OOh... scawee...
Same shot but from the front. Super Crouch!
What you did not see is that only seconds before this picture was taken, Super Crouch was half way around the world saving a bus load of orphans from crashing into a ravine. He then stopped for a milkshake before returning to the field in perfect position to score a goal. Thank you Goddess for creating such a man.
For what I think are pretty obvious reasons, this is my favorite picture of all time! Ever. In the history of the Universe. In sickness and health. In good times and bad. For ever and ever. You may kiss the football.
In honour of the fact that I have joined a recreational soccer league (I choose not to go into the details of how I am working from home the past two days because my body does not enjoy playing soccer as much as the rest of me does...).
So it's been a while since I have mentioned by favorite FIFA, now FA boyfriend, Peter Crouch.
Below is a little show-and-tell I would like to present to you. Call it an Ode to Crouchie if you will. Here are some pics from the latest Champions League Liverpool versus some Turkish team that starts with a G and kind of sounds like Galapagos.
For people even newer to "football" than I am, city specific teams play in leagues in their own country, but they also play teams from other cities throughout Europe and can win both their country's league as well as the European league... and this is not to be confused with the Euro Cup, nor the World Cup. Make sense? Hence why Liverpool can play a Turkish team whose name sounds somewhat like a group of islands studied at length by one Charles Darwin. Or something like that.
Anyway, thanks to Getty for letting me lift images from their site. I promise that these images will be used strictly for educational purposes, in that they will be used to educate the people as to the amazing awesomeness of the tallest footballer in all the land. Peter, call me...
Here he is with the look of dogged determination on his face. How cute is that?
Here's my future husband doing who knows what with his body. He's pretty agile for a guy who is tall enough to reach up and touch the moon. I will ask you to take note at the fear that PC inspires in the Galapagos player. OOh... scawee...
Same shot but from the front. Super Crouch!
What you did not see is that only seconds before this picture was taken, Super Crouch was half way around the world saving a bus load of orphans from crashing into a ravine. He then stopped for a milkshake before returning to the field in perfect position to score a goal. Thank you Goddess for creating such a man.
For what I think are pretty obvious reasons, this is my favorite picture of all time! Ever. In the history of the Universe. In sickness and health. In good times and bad. For ever and ever. You may kiss the football.
How Ali G Ruined My Life
Hey Everyone,
Remember me? That’s right, it’s Bea.
As usual, Bea hasn’t been writing because life has been so utterly exciting-activity free. But here is something to wrap your heads around… Before I begin however, I would like to stress that although it may seem that I am anti-short and anti-bald, nothing could be further from the truth. OK, well, short maybe, but I am quite fond of the bald/ balding man. Unless if course you are Joey Lawrence and then your baldness just creeps me out…
So we all know that I met a guy in July/ beginning of August. He was bald. He was short. We had a very fun night out that ended with what I now fondly call “DVD-gate”, where he lent me the second season of Ali G and I lent him my first season of House. Seemed like a fair trade at the time. I was reasonably confident that I would get it back after all, who would NOT want their second season of Ali G back? Am I right ladies? Then, of course, things took a turn for the annoying and the next month went a little something like this:
I really want to see you let’s do something on Friday… Oh, something came up…. But I really want to see you, let’s do something Friday… Oh, I have to work late… But I really want to see you, let’s do something Friday… Oops I broke my ankle and eff you for calling me a liar.
I did apologize for politely suggesting that he did not break his ankle and that he was full of foul smelling brown stuff, but in more of a Bart Simpson kind of way, where I didn’t mean it because I really do think the he was/ is full of smelly brown stuff but I hate confrontation so I just said sorry in the hopes that one day we could exchange property?
Anyway, at this point the above is really neither here nor there… old news. In the meantime, as somewhere deep inside I have accepted the fact that I now OWN the second season of Ali G and not House season one, I have no qualms about lending out said second season of Ali G to whomever I see fit to lend it to. And lend out I did… to a colleague who lives in my building who was itching to jump onto the Borat bandwagon. And, as my first foray back into dating culminated in I really want to see you let’s do something on Friday… Oh, something came up…. But I really want to see you, let’s do something Friday… Oh, I have to work late… But I really want to see you, let’s do something Friday… Oh, but I broke my ankle and eff you for calling me a liar… I am sort of lukewarm about the prospect right now. I swore that I was done with short, bald men.
Last week, enter short, bald man part deux. True, I had sworn myself off of short, bald men, but this one had a piece de resistance that I just could not, um, resist. Short, bald CANADIAN men, forget it. Short, bald ENGLISH men? All bets are off.
As (mis) fortune would have it, SBEM is also a big fan the second season of Ali G (I am sensing a pattern here…) and suggests that we get together sometime to watch it. Unfortunately, the copy of the second season of Ali G that I possess, which is not really mine but abandoned by another short bald guy, was not to be found in my possession at the time. Instead, it was in the same building in possession of my colleague who, although on the bald side himself, is not short. SBEM says no problem because, like any good short, bald man, he has his own copy of second season Ali G and that he would gladly come all the way over to my little abode that afternoon and we could watch.
Like, whatever. I had nothing else to do that afternoon anyway except laundry and if I had to choose between doing laundry and sitting on my ass… sitting on ass option will always win. Always.
Later that day, I could not help but chuckle to myself about the entire situation. There I was sitting next to a short, bald man while watching the second season of Ali G that he had brought over. Meanwhile, a copy of the same DVD was not more than 4 floors above my head in the hands of another bald man. The copy of THAT second season of Ali G having itself been brought to the building by way of another short, bald man.
Sometimes you just can’t see the forest for the bald men.
PS. Thanks to MySpace for their preview of Borat last night. I can’t promise that is the funniest movie ever made, but it’s pretty much the funniest movie ever made. Jagshemesh!
Remember me? That’s right, it’s Bea.
As usual, Bea hasn’t been writing because life has been so utterly exciting-activity free. But here is something to wrap your heads around… Before I begin however, I would like to stress that although it may seem that I am anti-short and anti-bald, nothing could be further from the truth. OK, well, short maybe, but I am quite fond of the bald/ balding man. Unless if course you are Joey Lawrence and then your baldness just creeps me out…
So we all know that I met a guy in July/ beginning of August. He was bald. He was short. We had a very fun night out that ended with what I now fondly call “DVD-gate”, where he lent me the second season of Ali G and I lent him my first season of House. Seemed like a fair trade at the time. I was reasonably confident that I would get it back after all, who would NOT want their second season of Ali G back? Am I right ladies? Then, of course, things took a turn for the annoying and the next month went a little something like this:
I really want to see you let’s do something on Friday… Oh, something came up…. But I really want to see you, let’s do something Friday… Oh, I have to work late… But I really want to see you, let’s do something Friday… Oops I broke my ankle and eff you for calling me a liar.
I did apologize for politely suggesting that he did not break his ankle and that he was full of foul smelling brown stuff, but in more of a Bart Simpson kind of way, where I didn’t mean it because I really do think the he was/ is full of smelly brown stuff but I hate confrontation so I just said sorry in the hopes that one day we could exchange property?
Anyway, at this point the above is really neither here nor there… old news. In the meantime, as somewhere deep inside I have accepted the fact that I now OWN the second season of Ali G and not House season one, I have no qualms about lending out said second season of Ali G to whomever I see fit to lend it to. And lend out I did… to a colleague who lives in my building who was itching to jump onto the Borat bandwagon. And, as my first foray back into dating culminated in I really want to see you let’s do something on Friday… Oh, something came up…. But I really want to see you, let’s do something Friday… Oh, I have to work late… But I really want to see you, let’s do something Friday… Oh, but I broke my ankle and eff you for calling me a liar… I am sort of lukewarm about the prospect right now. I swore that I was done with short, bald men.
Last week, enter short, bald man part deux. True, I had sworn myself off of short, bald men, but this one had a piece de resistance that I just could not, um, resist. Short, bald CANADIAN men, forget it. Short, bald ENGLISH men? All bets are off.
As (mis) fortune would have it, SBEM is also a big fan the second season of Ali G (I am sensing a pattern here…) and suggests that we get together sometime to watch it. Unfortunately, the copy of the second season of Ali G that I possess, which is not really mine but abandoned by another short bald guy, was not to be found in my possession at the time. Instead, it was in the same building in possession of my colleague who, although on the bald side himself, is not short. SBEM says no problem because, like any good short, bald man, he has his own copy of second season Ali G and that he would gladly come all the way over to my little abode that afternoon and we could watch.
Like, whatever. I had nothing else to do that afternoon anyway except laundry and if I had to choose between doing laundry and sitting on my ass… sitting on ass option will always win. Always.
Later that day, I could not help but chuckle to myself about the entire situation. There I was sitting next to a short, bald man while watching the second season of Ali G that he had brought over. Meanwhile, a copy of the same DVD was not more than 4 floors above my head in the hands of another bald man. The copy of THAT second season of Ali G having itself been brought to the building by way of another short, bald man.
Sometimes you just can’t see the forest for the bald men.
PS. Thanks to MySpace for their preview of Borat last night. I can’t promise that is the funniest movie ever made, but it’s pretty much the funniest movie ever made. Jagshemesh!
Monday
Sleep, Glorious Sleep
It’s be a super long time, I know. I’ve been mostly just relishing the fact that I the cats are gone and I have been able to sleep. My cat is positively on cloud none now that it’s just the two of us again and I have forgotten what an evil little bugger he was for the past month.
So what’s new?
Hmmm…
Last week I learned about what a small world it was. I ended up spending the Monday of Labour day weekend at some thing called Beachfest. Without going into the details, I found myself in a position of spending the day with a group of people who I swore I would never come within 10 feet of, let alone hang out with for the whole day. Sufficed to say that I was more than happy to spend the day sipping beer in ye olde beer garden. Anyway, upon arrival, one of the above mentioned mean girls had with her a guy who looked awfully familiar upon first glance. Not necessarily familiar in the “I know you” kind of way… more in the “He looks likes someone on TV” kind of way. Introductions were made and at the exact moment that this fella was being introduced, a plane from the air show did a fly by and I missed his name. Being the polite person that I am, I did the old lean in and apologized that I didn’t catch his name. “M”, he said it was as we shook hands and I said it was nice to meet him.
And then it was time for beer and music. A few hours and another airplane goes by and I glance behind me to look (what can I say, I like old planes) and M just so happened to be standing there. At that moment, I swear the look on my face must have been priceless, for in all of my dating adventures in the Big Smoke, I have never run into anyone who I had gone out with. And not just gone out with: http://beatricepetty.blogspot.com/2005/04/public-display-of-affection-and.html.
How is it possible that I could have not remembered a guy who I made out with along the busiest street in Toronto? No idea, but remember him I finally did. The world is too small my friends… Too small.
Last week was mostly about sleep.
This week? The Toronto international Film Festival. I didn’t volunteer again this year because I really wanted to have the flexibility of actually seeing the movies that I wanted, like we did last year. A few things have put a monkey wrench into the machinery. First and foremost is that my favorite (and only) festival buddy is still laid up with a bummed ankle and is unable to tiff this year. This would no be such a problem were it not for the fact that no on else I know is really into it. Granted, heading down to Yorkville to celebrity watch is super fun and all… but not every night. However, speaking of… Girl and I went down on Saturday to see what we could see and have a few bevies and decided to take a stroll to the Four Seasons and… Like, oh my gawd, like we totally saw… get this… Kevin Costner. I have the mobile phone pic to prove it (I tried to post it, but as per usual, Blogger is having image posting issues...) Note to self… a phone camera is no substitute for a real camera. So, yeah… my other peeps are just not into actually seeing movies so much. Although, I must give Celebrity Boyfriend Stealer a bit of a break. She worked her arse off with Rebelfest this weekend… Think the antithesis of the TIFF… and had the task of shepherding Tom Sizemore around to this that and the other thing. By the way, Mr. Sizemore is apparently the nicest of gentlemen, or so she says.
I’m also not completely all over the line-up this year either. Last year there seemed to be some much to choose from… this year? Besides Borat, and the new Christopher Guest mockumentary, there is not a lot that I would be willing to wait in a four hour line-up in the rain to see. I will see something though, not to worry. My money is on the closing gala Amazing Grace, which stars one of lesser known celebrity boyfriends Ioan Gruffudd. It also features a person with my new favorite name off all time-- Benedict Cumberbatch. I have no idea who this person is, or what he looks like, but I can only imagine that someone with a name like that must be quite a character and someone who I think I should like to marry. What a couple Benedict and Beatrice Cumberbatch would make don’t you think? We would have three children. Barnard and Bernice, twins of course. And the oldest… Bartleby. He would be a barrister when he grew up. Barney and Bernie would follow in their father’s footsteps and become actors and would go down in history of being the first brother and sister to win the Best Actor and Actress Oscar in the same year. Bernie, of course, will win for portraying the lead in the film adaptation of her mother’s Beatrice’s best selling novel. Barney will take home the prize for the drama version of Dude, Where’s My Car, which would also pick up the Oscar for Best Motion Picture that year.
And here I am with the stupidest last name EVER of Petty. I can scarcely bare to look at myself right now.
So what’s new?
Hmmm…
Last week I learned about what a small world it was. I ended up spending the Monday of Labour day weekend at some thing called Beachfest. Without going into the details, I found myself in a position of spending the day with a group of people who I swore I would never come within 10 feet of, let alone hang out with for the whole day. Sufficed to say that I was more than happy to spend the day sipping beer in ye olde beer garden. Anyway, upon arrival, one of the above mentioned mean girls had with her a guy who looked awfully familiar upon first glance. Not necessarily familiar in the “I know you” kind of way… more in the “He looks likes someone on TV” kind of way. Introductions were made and at the exact moment that this fella was being introduced, a plane from the air show did a fly by and I missed his name. Being the polite person that I am, I did the old lean in and apologized that I didn’t catch his name. “M”, he said it was as we shook hands and I said it was nice to meet him.
And then it was time for beer and music. A few hours and another airplane goes by and I glance behind me to look (what can I say, I like old planes) and M just so happened to be standing there. At that moment, I swear the look on my face must have been priceless, for in all of my dating adventures in the Big Smoke, I have never run into anyone who I had gone out with. And not just gone out with: http://beatricepetty.blogspot.com/2005/04/public-display-of-affection-and.html.
How is it possible that I could have not remembered a guy who I made out with along the busiest street in Toronto? No idea, but remember him I finally did. The world is too small my friends… Too small.
Last week was mostly about sleep.
This week? The Toronto international Film Festival. I didn’t volunteer again this year because I really wanted to have the flexibility of actually seeing the movies that I wanted, like we did last year. A few things have put a monkey wrench into the machinery. First and foremost is that my favorite (and only) festival buddy is still laid up with a bummed ankle and is unable to tiff this year. This would no be such a problem were it not for the fact that no on else I know is really into it. Granted, heading down to Yorkville to celebrity watch is super fun and all… but not every night. However, speaking of… Girl and I went down on Saturday to see what we could see and have a few bevies and decided to take a stroll to the Four Seasons and… Like, oh my gawd, like we totally saw… get this… Kevin Costner. I have the mobile phone pic to prove it (I tried to post it, but as per usual, Blogger is having image posting issues...) Note to self… a phone camera is no substitute for a real camera. So, yeah… my other peeps are just not into actually seeing movies so much. Although, I must give Celebrity Boyfriend Stealer a bit of a break. She worked her arse off with Rebelfest this weekend… Think the antithesis of the TIFF… and had the task of shepherding Tom Sizemore around to this that and the other thing. By the way, Mr. Sizemore is apparently the nicest of gentlemen, or so she says.
I’m also not completely all over the line-up this year either. Last year there seemed to be some much to choose from… this year? Besides Borat, and the new Christopher Guest mockumentary, there is not a lot that I would be willing to wait in a four hour line-up in the rain to see. I will see something though, not to worry. My money is on the closing gala Amazing Grace, which stars one of lesser known celebrity boyfriends Ioan Gruffudd. It also features a person with my new favorite name off all time-- Benedict Cumberbatch. I have no idea who this person is, or what he looks like, but I can only imagine that someone with a name like that must be quite a character and someone who I think I should like to marry. What a couple Benedict and Beatrice Cumberbatch would make don’t you think? We would have three children. Barnard and Bernice, twins of course. And the oldest… Bartleby. He would be a barrister when he grew up. Barney and Bernie would follow in their father’s footsteps and become actors and would go down in history of being the first brother and sister to win the Best Actor and Actress Oscar in the same year. Bernie, of course, will win for portraying the lead in the film adaptation of her mother’s Beatrice’s best selling novel. Barney will take home the prize for the drama version of Dude, Where’s My Car, which would also pick up the Oscar for Best Motion Picture that year.
And here I am with the stupidest last name EVER of Petty. I can scarcely bare to look at myself right now.
Friday
Things That Have Happened This Week... So Far... Part 2
1) Hootie and the Blowfish concert was last night. It was pretty much exactly how I figured a Hootie and a Blowfish concert would be, except I wasn’t expecting the lead singer to be wearing one of those little metro cowboy hats the entire time. With the exception of the drama surrounding my gay date and the crazy fella from a little further down the row stalking him for an hour and a half, I am a little annoyed that those are 2 hours out of my life that I will never get back and could have spent at home watching all my favorite Brit comedies. I take comfort in the fact that the other couple of thousand people felt the same way. How could I tell? Well, to quote my favorite book from last year: “The crowd is just not into you if… they only really clap at the cover songs from other bands you are playing”. No word of a lie, the crowd roared with delight at 54-40’s I Go Blind. You could almost collectively hear the crowd thinking “Wow, a 54-40 concert would be so much awesomer than the one I am at right now."
2) Thrice Disser kinda sorta apologized to me. It turns out that he was a little miffed that I didn’t believe that he broke his ankle and accused him of lying. Who knew that guys could be so sensitive? No word on just when I will be getting my House back so I suppose I will just have to take comfort in knowing that season three start next week. Hooray!!!
3) Right now I can hear the airplanes getting ready for the air show this weekend. I like airplanes. Kind of have the yen to go see Snakes on a Plane right now...
Have a good weekend y’all. Kitties are going home this weekend. When? No idea… But hopefully at some point I will be able to have the first decent night’s sleep in what seems like forever and not be such a brainless twit next week. It will be nice to have my boss ask me a question and be able to do more than stare blankly back like someone who has temporarily forgotten the English language.
2) Thrice Disser kinda sorta apologized to me. It turns out that he was a little miffed that I didn’t believe that he broke his ankle and accused him of lying. Who knew that guys could be so sensitive? No word on just when I will be getting my House back so I suppose I will just have to take comfort in knowing that season three start next week. Hooray!!!
3) Right now I can hear the airplanes getting ready for the air show this weekend. I like airplanes. Kind of have the yen to go see Snakes on a Plane right now...
Have a good weekend y’all. Kitties are going home this weekend. When? No idea… But hopefully at some point I will be able to have the first decent night’s sleep in what seems like forever and not be such a brainless twit next week. It will be nice to have my boss ask me a question and be able to do more than stare blankly back like someone who has temporarily forgotten the English language.
Wednesday
Things That Have Happened This Week... So Far
Please bear in mind that at this point, I have scarcely had more than 3 hours sleep on any given night since the beginning of the month.
1) Cats playing/fighting all night long. Every night. Ear plugs don’t work. Nor does gravol. Or a bottle of red wine.
2) My basil package fell out of my cupboard and straight into the sink full of soapy water and dished. There was basil everywhere. All the basil was completely ruined and needless to say, I had to empty the sink and start over. This may not seem like a big deal but if you add the fact that I am so exhausted that I cry at the drop of a hat WITH the fact that are all soon to experience a basil shortage of global proportions (it’s true, I read it in the paper), well, one word. DISASTER.
3) I found out my uncle has been addicted to crystal meth for the last couple of years. Suddenly his antics at Christmas last year make much more sense. Oh, and he might also be going to prison. Oddly enough the “Affair of the Basil” was much more upsetting.
4) A guy who has dissed me not once, not twice but thrice told ME to feck off when I had the nerve to ask him if we could switch the dvds we had swapped. Call me crazy but Dude, my first season of House is worth far more to me than your crappy second season of Da Ali G Show. Note to self… do not lend strangers ANYTHING. Oh, and I might have accused him of faking a broken ankle and some other stuff. But let’s all remind ourselves that I am running on about 24 hours of sleep for the entire month. But he was a big meanie to me. Next.
5) I am covering for 2 other people at work this week. I am not a machine people!
6) This hasn’t happened yet, but a work colleague invited me to a private concert for tomorrow to see… wait for it… Hootie and the Blowfish. Now, only really my old school uni peeps will know this about me, but if there is one band that I truly cannot stand in the world, it is Hootie and the Blowfish. They rank right up there with Richard Gere and raisins… But a free ticket is a free ticket I suppose. Between the two of us, it should be a fun outing: Me counting down the minutes until the concert is over, trying to do my best not to slap the person beside me just so I can take my mind off the fact that the song currently being played sounds exactly like all the other songs that were and will be played and my friend… who has never even heard of Hootie and the Blowfish.
7) Hugh has taken to peeing directly down the bathroom drain. I know, ew, but I have to hand it to the little bugger. It actually took a bit of brains to understand that liquids drain through the little hole through the tub. I think he has been studying this for a while now because for about a week he has been completely fascinated with watching the water in the shower. At first I thought he was just a little pervert, but it seems he was conducting a little bit of scientific observation. Am I ever glad he doesn’t have opposable thumbs because I think he might just have the smarts to take over the world. And a world run by cats is not one that I care to live in thank you very much.
Somebody please tell me that it's not just Wednesday...
1) Cats playing/fighting all night long. Every night. Ear plugs don’t work. Nor does gravol. Or a bottle of red wine.
2) My basil package fell out of my cupboard and straight into the sink full of soapy water and dished. There was basil everywhere. All the basil was completely ruined and needless to say, I had to empty the sink and start over. This may not seem like a big deal but if you add the fact that I am so exhausted that I cry at the drop of a hat WITH the fact that are all soon to experience a basil shortage of global proportions (it’s true, I read it in the paper), well, one word. DISASTER.
3) I found out my uncle has been addicted to crystal meth for the last couple of years. Suddenly his antics at Christmas last year make much more sense. Oh, and he might also be going to prison. Oddly enough the “Affair of the Basil” was much more upsetting.
4) A guy who has dissed me not once, not twice but thrice told ME to feck off when I had the nerve to ask him if we could switch the dvds we had swapped. Call me crazy but Dude, my first season of House is worth far more to me than your crappy second season of Da Ali G Show. Note to self… do not lend strangers ANYTHING. Oh, and I might have accused him of faking a broken ankle and some other stuff. But let’s all remind ourselves that I am running on about 24 hours of sleep for the entire month. But he was a big meanie to me. Next.
5) I am covering for 2 other people at work this week. I am not a machine people!
6) This hasn’t happened yet, but a work colleague invited me to a private concert for tomorrow to see… wait for it… Hootie and the Blowfish. Now, only really my old school uni peeps will know this about me, but if there is one band that I truly cannot stand in the world, it is Hootie and the Blowfish. They rank right up there with Richard Gere and raisins… But a free ticket is a free ticket I suppose. Between the two of us, it should be a fun outing: Me counting down the minutes until the concert is over, trying to do my best not to slap the person beside me just so I can take my mind off the fact that the song currently being played sounds exactly like all the other songs that were and will be played and my friend… who has never even heard of Hootie and the Blowfish.
7) Hugh has taken to peeing directly down the bathroom drain. I know, ew, but I have to hand it to the little bugger. It actually took a bit of brains to understand that liquids drain through the little hole through the tub. I think he has been studying this for a while now because for about a week he has been completely fascinated with watching the water in the shower. At first I thought he was just a little pervert, but it seems he was conducting a little bit of scientific observation. Am I ever glad he doesn’t have opposable thumbs because I think he might just have the smarts to take over the world. And a world run by cats is not one that I care to live in thank you very much.
Somebody please tell me that it's not just Wednesday...
Thursday
Wednesday
Monday
Free to a good home...
I’m still in Kitty Hell. The following are a sampling of the things that have happened thus far - week one of a month long stay:
1) Hugh has peed in places, some of which do not include his kitty litter. Luckily he has since stopped, but still, not a fan of kitty pee in the bathtub.
2) The kitties murdered my laptop. It somehow took a nose dive from its secure position on the coffee table to the parquet floor at some point while I was at work last Thursday. It needs a new hard drive. If I ever see the “Error 174” ever again during the rest of my life, it will be too soon.
3) Hugh has forgotten that he has no reproductive capabilities anymore. He is also apparently homosexual and I am pulling him off little Tartine ever 2.5 seconds. Gay Kitty Love is not as appealing as it sounds folks. Especially at 4am, when it is happening on my pillow.
4) Little Tartine is a puker, as most long-haired cats are. This would not be a problem so much if he were to choose to NOT puke on my natural wood coffee table. A table which pretty much serves as my everything table which, like, ew.
5) I hate emptying kitty litter 50 times a day. I may make the decision to stop feeding them.
6) Everything I own is coated in white Persian fur.
7) Best $4 I ever spent was on a red laser pointer. Hours and hours of laser pointer fun for all three kitties = a couple of hours of interrupted sleep for Bea.
8) I was walking past my “everything” table yesterday, upon which sat a full glass of raspberry crystal light… which is a delightful bright pink colour… when said glass literally exploded without being touched in any way. Ok, so may I can’t blame the kitties for this one… but I am SURE they must be somehow responsible, so blame them I will. My only consolation was that because the kitties had previously murdered the laptop, it was not on the table when the glass exploded and was thus spared from being doused with a glass full of bright pink liquid.
Is the summer over yet?
1) Hugh has peed in places, some of which do not include his kitty litter. Luckily he has since stopped, but still, not a fan of kitty pee in the bathtub.
2) The kitties murdered my laptop. It somehow took a nose dive from its secure position on the coffee table to the parquet floor at some point while I was at work last Thursday. It needs a new hard drive. If I ever see the “Error 174” ever again during the rest of my life, it will be too soon.
3) Hugh has forgotten that he has no reproductive capabilities anymore. He is also apparently homosexual and I am pulling him off little Tartine ever 2.5 seconds. Gay Kitty Love is not as appealing as it sounds folks. Especially at 4am, when it is happening on my pillow.
4) Little Tartine is a puker, as most long-haired cats are. This would not be a problem so much if he were to choose to NOT puke on my natural wood coffee table. A table which pretty much serves as my everything table which, like, ew.
5) I hate emptying kitty litter 50 times a day. I may make the decision to stop feeding them.
6) Everything I own is coated in white Persian fur.
7) Best $4 I ever spent was on a red laser pointer. Hours and hours of laser pointer fun for all three kitties = a couple of hours of interrupted sleep for Bea.
8) I was walking past my “everything” table yesterday, upon which sat a full glass of raspberry crystal light… which is a delightful bright pink colour… when said glass literally exploded without being touched in any way. Ok, so may I can’t blame the kitties for this one… but I am SURE they must be somehow responsible, so blame them I will. My only consolation was that because the kitties had previously murdered the laptop, it was not on the table when the glass exploded and was thus spared from being doused with a glass full of bright pink liquid.
Is the summer over yet?
Thursday
Yet Another Internet Discovery
I feel compelled to share this with anyone and everyone who like to have a good chuckle.
So long story short… I got a call at work yesterday on my cell. It was from Calgary so I figured it was from my friend KS. When I got home I checked my messages and here was this message from KS, doing what I thought was the bestest freaking impression of Samuel L. Jackson that you could ever hear. About 15 seconds into the message I realized that it was not my friend KS but was actually Samuel L. Jackson… telling me that if I did not go and see Snakes on a Plane he would hunt me down and kill me. I was scared.
If you would like to give your friends a good laugh, as I have done, check it out for yourself: www.snakesonaplane.com.
And yes, I will be going to see Snakes on a Plane when it opens in theatres everywhere on August 18th. If you value your life, so will you.
So long story short… I got a call at work yesterday on my cell. It was from Calgary so I figured it was from my friend KS. When I got home I checked my messages and here was this message from KS, doing what I thought was the bestest freaking impression of Samuel L. Jackson that you could ever hear. About 15 seconds into the message I realized that it was not my friend KS but was actually Samuel L. Jackson… telling me that if I did not go and see Snakes on a Plane he would hunt me down and kill me. I was scared.
If you would like to give your friends a good laugh, as I have done, check it out for yourself: www.snakesonaplane.com.
And yes, I will be going to see Snakes on a Plane when it opens in theatres everywhere on August 18th. If you value your life, so will you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)