Who Plays a Mean Pinball?

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

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.