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.
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.
Tuesday
Internet Discoveries Are Fun
My confession du jour is that I am probably the last person on the planet to discover My Space.
Oh, I had heard of it... A great breeding ground for pedophiles. I was even on it a while back but never really appreciated it for what it was... A really cool place to discover new music.
Anyway, sticking close to home over the weekend to make sure that Hugh didn't kill our guests gave me a bit of time to play around with it.
Check it out: www.myspace.com/beatricepetty.
Laters.
Oh, I had heard of it... A great breeding ground for pedophiles. I was even on it a while back but never really appreciated it for what it was... A really cool place to discover new music.
Anyway, sticking close to home over the weekend to make sure that Hugh didn't kill our guests gave me a bit of time to play around with it.
Check it out: www.myspace.com/beatricepetty.
Laters.
Sunday
The Arrival of D-Day...
As I start this posting it is just coming up to 9am on Sunday morning. I have been out of bed for about an hour.
But what time did you wake up? I can hear you all asking.
Why, I woke up at 9:30am...
... Yesterday morning.
Yesterday afternoon saw the arrival of Tartine and Couscous, two very adorable Persians who had come away from the groomers looking like little mini lions. Pretty adorable.
To make a long story short. Hugh loves them. I think eventually it will be to the death, but at the moment he can't seem to get enough of them - the little Tartine especially, who is about half the size of Hugh.
And so throughout the evening and as the night wore on, the "playing" got more intense. It went a little something like this:
1) Hugh meows, signaling his eminent pounce. Sometimes one meow, sometimes several, but always loud.
2) Now forewarned of the attack, Tartine turns and lets out a screech loud enough to wake the dead... which is comforting to know because another night of no sleep will surely cause such a calamity.
3) Hugh, quite nonplussed about this howl, goes in for the pounce anyway.
4) Tartine, with yet another screech, this time louder by ten-fold, hits back with a force that only a tiny little "fur shaved in the style of a lion" kitty can muster when faced with a very insistent foe.
5) Hugh jumps back, startled at the ferocity of the defence. He responds with a little chirp as if to say "Ok, you got me. Totally didn't see that coming."
6) Feeling that the little exchange is over, Tartine turns away to go about his business of survival.
7) Repeat steps 1 through 6 over and over and over again for 12 solid hours.
In the end (middle of the night) I broke down and put the two visitors in my hallway/closet/bathroom, along with all their necessities. I wanted them to be able to do their feline duties undisturbed by Hugh. They seemed OK, but not impressed with their tight quarters I am sure. But what of Hugh?
About the only thing putting the cats away so that he could not get to them solved was that I was able to skip through steps 2 through 6 and just had to contend with #1. Over and over and over and over and over.
Putting him outside seemed like a lovely idea, until I did that and in 2.5 seconds proceeded to peepee all over the one chair that I have out on the patio. Ew. So in he came and howled and howled and howled until I could no longer take laying in bed with earplugs in my ears that did crap all. 29 decibels is apparently about as loud as as octogenarian shuffling their slippers as they walk down the hall in the retirement home. And not two cats duking it out right under my bed and howling at the top of their lungs. Just an FYI...
If I don't post for a while, you can assume that one of three things has happened.
1) I have dropped dead from exhaustion,
2) I am on the run from the animal welfare authorities, who do not look kindly at people who agree to look after co-workers pets and then turn around and sell them to the Carnival,
3) These cats seemed destined to consume the better part of my life for the next month. I shall spare you the gory details of daily life in the crazy house.
Goodbye
But what time did you wake up? I can hear you all asking.
Why, I woke up at 9:30am...
... Yesterday morning.
Yesterday afternoon saw the arrival of Tartine and Couscous, two very adorable Persians who had come away from the groomers looking like little mini lions. Pretty adorable.
To make a long story short. Hugh loves them. I think eventually it will be to the death, but at the moment he can't seem to get enough of them - the little Tartine especially, who is about half the size of Hugh.
And so throughout the evening and as the night wore on, the "playing" got more intense. It went a little something like this:
1) Hugh meows, signaling his eminent pounce. Sometimes one meow, sometimes several, but always loud.
2) Now forewarned of the attack, Tartine turns and lets out a screech loud enough to wake the dead... which is comforting to know because another night of no sleep will surely cause such a calamity.
3) Hugh, quite nonplussed about this howl, goes in for the pounce anyway.
4) Tartine, with yet another screech, this time louder by ten-fold, hits back with a force that only a tiny little "fur shaved in the style of a lion" kitty can muster when faced with a very insistent foe.
5) Hugh jumps back, startled at the ferocity of the defence. He responds with a little chirp as if to say "Ok, you got me. Totally didn't see that coming."
6) Feeling that the little exchange is over, Tartine turns away to go about his business of survival.
7) Repeat steps 1 through 6 over and over and over again for 12 solid hours.
In the end (middle of the night) I broke down and put the two visitors in my hallway/closet/bathroom, along with all their necessities. I wanted them to be able to do their feline duties undisturbed by Hugh. They seemed OK, but not impressed with their tight quarters I am sure. But what of Hugh?
About the only thing putting the cats away so that he could not get to them solved was that I was able to skip through steps 2 through 6 and just had to contend with #1. Over and over and over and over and over.
Putting him outside seemed like a lovely idea, until I did that and in 2.5 seconds proceeded to peepee all over the one chair that I have out on the patio. Ew. So in he came and howled and howled and howled until I could no longer take laying in bed with earplugs in my ears that did crap all. 29 decibels is apparently about as loud as as octogenarian shuffling their slippers as they walk down the hall in the retirement home. And not two cats duking it out right under my bed and howling at the top of their lungs. Just an FYI...
If I don't post for a while, you can assume that one of three things has happened.
1) I have dropped dead from exhaustion,
2) I am on the run from the animal welfare authorities, who do not look kindly at people who agree to look after co-workers pets and then turn around and sell them to the Carnival,
3) These cats seemed destined to consume the better part of my life for the next month. I shall spare you the gory details of daily life in the crazy house.
Goodbye
Friday
The Creature from the Black Lag-womb
I spoke with my Mom last night… blah, blah, blah… she loves me and is proud of both my brother and I… how we never needed anti-depressants growing up. You know, the usual parental gushing stuff.
Somehow we got turned on to talking about when she was pregnant with me and how much I did not want to come out. I was two weeks overdue and apparently that was quite irritating to her. She just wanted me out. But I didn’t want to come. I was cozy. I was safe. She decided that the best way to make me pop out would be to engage in a rigorous house vacuuming session which she proceeded to do. I guess it worked because said vacuuming did induce labour and off to the hospital Ma and Pa went.
Sadly, there were also a lot of other babies who decided to make that appearance that fateful February 15th. My insistence on staying inside my nice cozy womb had meant that of those expectant Mothers to be, my Mommy arrived last and there was no room at the inn. So, not unlike the biblical story of old, Mr. and Mrs. Petty were put in the manger… or broom closet…
29 hours later and I still did not want to come out. I guess my Dad got bored of my Mom being in labour so he left the manger/broom closet to take a quick nap in the cafeteria. My mom wasn’t impressed. After all, my Dad was the one who had gotten her into this mess in the first place and god dammitt he was going to suffer the consequences along with her. So back my Dad came.
Shortly thereafter I arrived and was promptly whisked away to the nursery. A while later Mrs. Petty felt well enough after her ordeal to take a trip to the nursery to have a look at her new darling baby girl. When she gazed upon her new daughter, tears began to flow. Partly due to joy. Partly due to the hideousness of the creature that lay before her.
Skin peeling, scaly, blotchy, red and hairless…
Mrs. Petty had given birth to a Lizard Baby.
“All the other babies are so beautiful”, Ma Petty asked the nurse. “Why is my baby so repulsive to look at?”
The nurse proceeded to explain “Well Mrs. Petty, didn’t you know? When babies are two weeks over due, their skins start to react to the liquid in the womb, so your baby will be scaly and shed her skin for quite some time before it returns to normal”?
“Yes, but why is she as red as a tomato?” inquired the new mother. “All the other babies have a beautiful golden hue, as if the goddess herself had smiled down upon them and blessed them. Why, why does my baby look like such a freak of nature?”
The nurse laughed, “Hahahahaha Mrs. Petty, why, don’t you know? Most babies are born with jaundice which causes their skin to turn a yellowish hue. Your daughter, unsightly as she may be, is the healthiest of the lot. At least she would be,” paused the nurse, “if she was not molting.”
And that, my friends, is the story of how I came to be.
The End
Bea “LizI AM the Lizard Queen” Petty
PS. And I do peel. To this day, put me out in the sun for 5 minutes and I will burn. It’s probably due to the fact that I lost more skin within the first 2 hours of being born than most people do in their life time.
Somehow we got turned on to talking about when she was pregnant with me and how much I did not want to come out. I was two weeks overdue and apparently that was quite irritating to her. She just wanted me out. But I didn’t want to come. I was cozy. I was safe. She decided that the best way to make me pop out would be to engage in a rigorous house vacuuming session which she proceeded to do. I guess it worked because said vacuuming did induce labour and off to the hospital Ma and Pa went.
Sadly, there were also a lot of other babies who decided to make that appearance that fateful February 15th. My insistence on staying inside my nice cozy womb had meant that of those expectant Mothers to be, my Mommy arrived last and there was no room at the inn. So, not unlike the biblical story of old, Mr. and Mrs. Petty were put in the manger… or broom closet…
29 hours later and I still did not want to come out. I guess my Dad got bored of my Mom being in labour so he left the manger/broom closet to take a quick nap in the cafeteria. My mom wasn’t impressed. After all, my Dad was the one who had gotten her into this mess in the first place and god dammitt he was going to suffer the consequences along with her. So back my Dad came.
Shortly thereafter I arrived and was promptly whisked away to the nursery. A while later Mrs. Petty felt well enough after her ordeal to take a trip to the nursery to have a look at her new darling baby girl. When she gazed upon her new daughter, tears began to flow. Partly due to joy. Partly due to the hideousness of the creature that lay before her.
Skin peeling, scaly, blotchy, red and hairless…
Mrs. Petty had given birth to a Lizard Baby.
“All the other babies are so beautiful”, Ma Petty asked the nurse. “Why is my baby so repulsive to look at?”
The nurse proceeded to explain “Well Mrs. Petty, didn’t you know? When babies are two weeks over due, their skins start to react to the liquid in the womb, so your baby will be scaly and shed her skin for quite some time before it returns to normal”?
“Yes, but why is she as red as a tomato?” inquired the new mother. “All the other babies have a beautiful golden hue, as if the goddess herself had smiled down upon them and blessed them. Why, why does my baby look like such a freak of nature?”
The nurse laughed, “Hahahahaha Mrs. Petty, why, don’t you know? Most babies are born with jaundice which causes their skin to turn a yellowish hue. Your daughter, unsightly as she may be, is the healthiest of the lot. At least she would be,” paused the nurse, “if she was not molting.”
And that, my friends, is the story of how I came to be.
The End
Bea “LizI AM the Lizard Queen” Petty
PS. And I do peel. To this day, put me out in the sun for 5 minutes and I will burn. It’s probably due to the fact that I lost more skin within the first 2 hours of being born than most people do in their life time.
Wednesday
TTC Doing its Part
OK,
So further to my mini-rant yesterday about the hottest day EVER, which literally turned into the hottest night EVER… literally. I read that in the paper this morning… which makes total sense because my antique AC could scarcely keep up and I sweated all night long. But seeing as how I have been sweating pretty much solidly for the past two weeks, what’s an hour or two or eight here and there?
Anyway, on my way home yesterday I spotted a bus that was parked in front of the subway station. It was one of the new buses where you can program pretty much anything into the message thingy on the front. Here is what it said, in its fancy schmancy scrolling manner:
SMOG ALERT
TAKE TRANSIT....
Not in Service
SMOG ALERT
TAKE TRANSIT...
Not in Service
SMOG ALERT
TAKE TRANSIT...
Not in Service
SMOG ALERT
TAKE TRANSIT...
Not in Service
I giggled all the way home… tee hee.
So further to my mini-rant yesterday about the hottest day EVER, which literally turned into the hottest night EVER… literally. I read that in the paper this morning… which makes total sense because my antique AC could scarcely keep up and I sweated all night long. But seeing as how I have been sweating pretty much solidly for the past two weeks, what’s an hour or two or eight here and there?
Anyway, on my way home yesterday I spotted a bus that was parked in front of the subway station. It was one of the new buses where you can program pretty much anything into the message thingy on the front. Here is what it said, in its fancy schmancy scrolling manner:
SMOG ALERT
TAKE TRANSIT....
Not in Service
SMOG ALERT
TAKE TRANSIT...
Not in Service
SMOG ALERT
TAKE TRANSIT...
Not in Service
SMOG ALERT
TAKE TRANSIT...
Not in Service
I giggled all the way home… tee hee.
Tuesday
Axes and Furnaces Suck
The past few months at work have been kinda sorta interesting. A while back I might have mentioned some of the following that:
a) I had been offered a full-time position here but then
b) That had been reneged upon and I was not been offered anything but then
c) Due to a lack/complete absence of communication it had been presumed that I would not be interested in the position, which was due to be changing slightly and then
d) The higher-ups decided to completely re-structure the entire organization and
e) Yes, they were happy to have me but that
f) I was only going to get a contract extension of 3 months because due to the above mentioned re-structuring that the position might change within that time and they wanted to make sure it was going to work before they committed to hiring me on full-time in that capacity but that
g) I was to be rest assured that I would have a job at the end of those 3 months, they were just not sure exactly in what capacity and finally
h) I signed my contract yesterday.
Well sadly, there is more to add to this alphabet story for on the very same day that ‘h)’ (please see above) occurred, ‘d)’ (please see above) completely kicked into high gear yesterday which resulted in:
i) A few people losing their jobs including a very good friend of yours truly and some others that I never though would be a result of ‘d)’ (please see above).
I felt sick to my stomach yesterday and only decidedly less so today. Coupled with the fact that it is about 50 degrees outside and you get the kind of ill-humour I am in today. Also contributing to my ill-humour is that I was fortunate enough on the weekend to be reminded about how great cuddling is and really how much I have missed it… Of course we all know my luck so this particular cuddling session is likely destined to be a one off, but it was nice nonetheless.
Actually, now that I think about it… the cuddling… not the weather… or the “restructuring” , I do kind a feel a bit warmer and fuzzier inside… the good kind of warmer… not the “I could step out to grab a bite to eat but I think I would rather starve than walk outside to grab food” warmer.
a) I had been offered a full-time position here but then
b) That had been reneged upon and I was not been offered anything but then
c) Due to a lack/complete absence of communication it had been presumed that I would not be interested in the position, which was due to be changing slightly and then
d) The higher-ups decided to completely re-structure the entire organization and
e) Yes, they were happy to have me but that
f) I was only going to get a contract extension of 3 months because due to the above mentioned re-structuring that the position might change within that time and they wanted to make sure it was going to work before they committed to hiring me on full-time in that capacity but that
g) I was to be rest assured that I would have a job at the end of those 3 months, they were just not sure exactly in what capacity and finally
h) I signed my contract yesterday.
Well sadly, there is more to add to this alphabet story for on the very same day that ‘h)’ (please see above) occurred, ‘d)’ (please see above) completely kicked into high gear yesterday which resulted in:
i) A few people losing their jobs including a very good friend of yours truly and some others that I never though would be a result of ‘d)’ (please see above).
I felt sick to my stomach yesterday and only decidedly less so today. Coupled with the fact that it is about 50 degrees outside and you get the kind of ill-humour I am in today. Also contributing to my ill-humour is that I was fortunate enough on the weekend to be reminded about how great cuddling is and really how much I have missed it… Of course we all know my luck so this particular cuddling session is likely destined to be a one off, but it was nice nonetheless.
Actually, now that I think about it… the cuddling… not the weather… or the “restructuring” , I do kind a feel a bit warmer and fuzzier inside… the good kind of warmer… not the “I could step out to grab a bite to eat but I think I would rather starve than walk outside to grab food” warmer.
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