tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52296972012-02-01T17:59:39.118-05:00Thrilling true tales of travel and misadventure.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.comBlogger2361100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-62504300863090095962010-09-28T06:17:00.002-04:002010-09-28T06:24:31.048-04:00

Tour guide vs. Tourist: The ultimate face-off “You’re too loud!” A man’s nylon-enshrouded arm waved for my attention, for everyone’s attention. He looked miserable. He sat among rows of over-prepared tourists, all wearing shoes so sensible they had no place in London. Some were shod with hiking boots. Others with bulbous white trainers, the sort resembling miniature cruise liners on each foot,

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-52322978762923228442010-09-09T04:43:00.001-04:002010-09-09T04:44:22.633-04:00

Wild England I’ll admit I was expecting some trees. Camping would be the perfect break from the cacophony of London, I needed – respite from the queues, the cost and the constant threat of pickpockets and train delays. For the peace of the countryside, I was willing to incur a few itchy welts and fall slack with my hygiene. From my tent in the shadow of the trees, I would mistake the sound of

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-60406921009452175792010-04-13T06:13:00.016-04:002010-04-15T05:25:32.923-04:00

The Sacrificial Lime"THIS is the way to cut a lime," condescended the bar owner, eyeing me with one brow lowered for dramatic affect. His manicured fingers held the tiny off-season fruit to the cutting board where it awaited slaughter, while I played along to avoid my own. His fingers were clustered together, precariously balanced, like a trained elephant on a circus ball. Then he confiscated my

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-39053509790571733972010-03-22T07:38:00.005-04:002010-03-22T07:48:37.091-04:00

I, hypocriteIn precisely seven days, I will commit the most hypocritical act of my lifetime. Only my short stint as a member of a Pentecostal youth cult, or as a groupie with my CK model boy toy and his reality TV friends one hot New York summer, can begin to compare. And if the outcomes of those little episodes are any indication of how this latest hypocrisy will go, it won’t be long before I’m

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-3346147028334833122010-03-08T06:48:00.006-05:002010-03-08T07:01:45.933-05:00

Sweeter than othersStill half asleep, I’d never have made it to the fridge if not for being so hungry I’d dreamt of barbecuing the cat. I’ve been working long hours, and more specifically, all the hours that stores selling food are open, so groceries have been left up to my boyfriend and otherwise spectacular life partner. While our friend Sam describes him as having ‘the palate of a

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-13594288688116862592010-03-02T08:58:00.006-05:002010-03-02T09:13:32.717-05:00

Wish you were hereThis morning in London, I leaned back in my patio chair, facing the sun with my eyes closed, rolled my pyjama pants up to my knees and let myself pretend I was in Montreal in springtime. The sound of traffic drove me closer, because the last home I had in Montreal was on Avenue du Parc, a main thoroughfare just barely north of the city’s answer for Central Park, and by the

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-148989641404623372010-02-16T10:40:00.004-05:002010-02-16T11:59:41.874-05:00

Sweet and unsavouryI'm in an abusive relationship. Maybe it's because she keeps give-give-giving and I keep take-take-taking and running off to other people, or it could be something else entirely, but her hatred for me is as well seasoned and pungent as her award-winning cooking. Whatever it is, I'm willing to put up with it for the money.When I applied for the job, I thought I'd be bartending

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-48268555860525007732010-02-10T07:12:00.018-05:002010-02-10T10:21:20.878-05:00

New year, new career and 40 virginsI should have known something was up when I got an immediate call-back. Job hunting just hasn't been that easy in London.Until now, call-backs only ever came for jobs typically set aside for immigrants like me, read: pubs, call-centres and fundraising schemes. Or there'd be some catch. Like the Z-list celebrity entrepreneur who hired me as a Marketing Assistant,

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-14868310678348385292010-01-29T07:33:00.003-05:002010-01-29T08:04:45.905-05:00

Where have I been?Not in London, that's for sure. But I'm back now. And how do I know that? By the black goo in my nostrils, of course.This is home. Nova Scotia, Canada. The air's pretty clear out there.

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-41434831368529065242010-01-05T13:26:00.011-05:002010-01-12T23:06:37.847-05:00

Babes in PublandAlthough the novelty of working at a traditional English boozer hadn’t yet worn off, it was still nice to spruce things up a little for the holiday season. Nothing about the pub but the staff had changed according to one octogenarian, for at least the forty years since he’d last stopped in for a cheeky pint, and I’m sure that’s true. The woodwork is dark and sturdy, the floor

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-77650197575534047772009-11-25T05:28:00.011-05:002009-11-25T09:54:23.578-05:00

What I need is you"You need me," my boyfriend said, pressing his hand against my back, keeping me close. I'd just jumped at him for a quick hug, and it was nice that he took time to savour it. I smiled.He knows it's true. And I liked his confidence."You need me," he repeated. And after only a short pause, said it again, "You need me."It was getting weird. But what the hell, I played along."OK, I

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-34635014371038674232009-11-14T13:47:00.007-05:002009-11-14T14:32:40.158-05:00

Before I got lucky in LondonIt was a short, regrettable fling – one of the last, and it may have otherwise been among the most forgettable, had my suitor not resorted to theft to gain my attention, if not my affection. Lasting only a few days of vegan lunches, soy lattes and his nervous mannerisms, even in its genesis, I knew the deal could never quite be sealed with more than a hops-sloppy

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-45366694914215397932009-10-11T09:19:00.012-04:002009-10-12T05:57:07.070-04:00

Interview for a cold day in ... LondonYou might know him as the co-owner of a trendy London bowling alley chain, or the man behind a popular Notting Hill club, but he’s more than that to me – he’s the guy who wants a naked personal assistant. And he's hiring."First, I want you to understand; it's nothing sexual," he said ten minutes into the interview.Keeping his eyes fixed on mine, he lowered

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-65811149755649057912009-10-01T05:31:00.006-04:002009-10-01T07:35:44.404-04:00

One sad way to lose a job If you know London, you know The City refers to the financial district – the new-money hub, the once sparkling centre rife with slick suits, the testosterone traders, the bankers – City Boys. Or so I hear.By the time I came to England, the credit crunch was in full bloom. My boyfriend took a redundancy package not long after my arrival, and my dreams of jump-starting my

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-19175599547587834022009-09-28T06:58:00.012-04:002009-09-28T07:15:55.144-04:00

Chugging in Chelmsford Note: Even if you don't make it all the way through this post, it's worth scrolling down to see the picture.There's a lot ironic about being run out of town by police from a place like Chelmsford.Partially because it’s apparently being done to protect townspeople from charities; in a big way because I had a legal right to be there for my job; and, even more so because

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-65562167865300306952009-09-11T03:21:00.009-04:002009-09-12T03:46:35.364-04:00

Say it to my face, but make it quickThere are two kinds of clipboards. The kind my boyfriend likes using to interview celebrities and festival goers, which attract 5-minute fame-seekers like free money, and the kind I've been issued for my new temporary job, which makes even grown men jump into traffic-heavy streets to avoid me.That's the power I wield.Since I have to work a student job for

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-10589162443081046712009-08-29T03:52:00.026-04:002009-08-30T06:28:34.259-04:00

London callingI went for an interview at a call-centre.I know. I know.But when the going gets tough, the tough'll do anything to stay afloat. That's what I tell myself. And being a foreigner and a job-seeker in the midst of credit crunch hysteria – melancholy so severe and so adored by Londoners that advertisers city-wide use it for rhymes and puns – I can't even splurge for the discounted '

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-27487410211600712982009-08-24T17:56:00.021-04:002009-08-26T18:22:55.209-04:00

Evil within, more evil withoutMornings like tomorrow's, I need to start with coffee. The really strong stuff. The kind that gives me the shakes after a single cup, to rattle yesterday's London out of my head and prep me for a grand new adventure – even if it's not really grand. Or an adventure. Even if it's a group interview for a demoralising temporary job I swore I'd never ever do. Especially

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-22013372743532042872009-08-20T03:03:00.012-04:002009-08-20T09:08:26.876-04:00

London and/or bustI'm living in a privileged state of poverty. Somehow despite chronic joblessness – since my ill-fated stint as a D-list TV show host / life coach's assistant (read: fall girl) – I'm still living in one of the nicest neighbourhoods in London, in a house with a sunny garden, thanks to a sweet couple I met one year ago today.While I'm choosing rice over roasts and eggs over chicken

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-42497887423942774082009-08-14T03:13:00.010-04:002009-08-14T04:37:58.185-04:00

Motivation from the trenchesThere's nothing quite so motivating as looking a call centre job dead in the receiver. Motivating, I mean, to find something else. Anything else. Anything but that. And there's nothing quite so ironic as the motivational introductory speech they give you at the outset."Here, we work hard and party even harder!" The recruiter's lavender eye shadow and the bright blue

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-44392894521100410172009-08-09T09:37:00.011-04:002009-08-09T18:46:10.730-04:00

The Heathrow EffectThe Heathrow Effect is apparently the name for what's happening to me. Not the standard 60-day vortex of depression newcomers suffer as a rite of passage, but rather the fatty buffer that seems to be forming between my belly and the rest of London.In a way I'm grateful. I'll need the reserve to live on when my bank account runs dry.I'd previously thought the extra luggage had

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-7608814391718928562009-08-04T06:14:00.009-04:002009-08-04T19:33:17.506-04:00

London, in a nose-holeDuring my first four months in London, I only had work for five weeks. And since London ranks among the most expensive cities on the planet, if you do the math, whatever else you do, don't share your findings with me. If that burning turmoil in my torso is agitated any further I might just auction a few organs before they're ruined.Anyway after a month-long respite in Canada

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-33931676494639087112009-07-22T15:20:00.007-04:002009-07-22T15:41:35.031-04:00

Bluenosing aroundI've been visiting my Nova Scotian hometown for the past few weeks, trying to find myself. Since I'm still busy looking, I haven't yet updated on the goings on here on Canada's sweet, albeit misty North Atlantic Coast. Most has to do with whales, lakes and wondering how everyone from my graduating class in high school has managed to get married and pop out a few kids already.If

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-3316056831279275052009-06-28T10:01:00.003-04:002009-06-28T10:11:34.986-04:00

Chipstick itAs a Canadian living in England, it's confusing enough for me to have to call fries chips, and chips crisps, but to make chips that look like fries, or rather crisps that look like chips, or chip-crisps and call them chipsticks?England, you mess with my head.If you are what you eat, I'm an identity crisis.

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-44682986279211619542009-06-25T04:21:00.020-04:002009-06-25T07:21:24.519-04:00

Greasy breakfast = Modern romance"It's brilliant," my boyfriend said with the kind of enthusiasm he usually reserves for sweets. "We really, really have to get some."The opportunist in me agreed wholeheartedly. If he was that excited about buying a Lush massage bar, I'd be a fool to dissuade him. But then he went on."This massage oil really is just so nice," he said, sniffing each tester in the

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-42725989190880074192009-06-23T05:27:00.006-04:002009-06-23T07:20:43.898-04:00

Privacy piracy: In a home near you"What I want to see is pure, unadulterated blogging – a total exposé."It's a gutsy thing to say considering I've just moved in with him. But he meant it, and I knew it, because he's the sort of man who likes to get down to the gritty uncomfortable truth of ... everything.My other new flatmate, his long-term partner and also my friend (the one who brought me along

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-40865766024188908632009-06-15T12:44:00.004-04:002009-06-15T13:11:03.215-04:00

Touching famouses"Jake Gyllenhaal kayaked past me with [so-and-so] in Mexico."And with that, she'd won the celebrity-spotting competition. So-and-so was a reference to some annoyingly famous and annoyingly hot young actress, but I don't remember who. After she said Jake Gyllenhaal and kayak, I was too turned on to listen.My entry was thrilling but weak, as I'd recently brushed by Claudia Schiffer

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-86080266924314568382009-06-13T09:38:00.006-04:002009-06-13T10:02:14.918-04:00

How I became a fash assBecause I generally lead a charmed albeit somewhat pitiable life, I spent a fair amount of time touching topless 19-year-old girls this week. If you can say the same, I pray it's because you work in fashion, and that it's genuinely in your job description.I did it because, being unemployed, I have nothing else to do at the moment and one of my favourite new friends in

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-36279624431615186442009-06-09T12:23:00.018-04:002009-06-09T14:11:33.401-04:00

Londammit: A pawn shop outingI didn't think I'd be visiting a pawn shop within my first year of settling in London. Not because I wasn't aware of its ranking among the most expensive cities in the world, but rather because I'd taken preemptive action and sold all my belongings before moving here.But today I did.Inside everything was encased in bullet-proof glass, including the booth at the very

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-47118118399683652652009-05-25T05:50:00.008-04:002009-05-25T07:02:12.884-04:00

YouTube envy on the Northern LineI live with two of the most creative people in London. Or rather, two of the most creative people in London are letting me loiter in their home, pending a more permanent living arrangement and employment, in exchange for not being a pain in the ass, restocking the toilet roll, and sleeping with one of them.It's OK, he's my boyfriend.Among the many perks of living

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-42807181454746437812009-05-22T06:11:00.008-04:002009-05-22T12:53:08.309-04:00

Who's full of what?"London's changed so much," lamented the roast beef-hued elderly Englishman beside the pool. His kindly, obese wife reclined next to him, bobbing her head in agreement. She was one of the few women at the resort to conceal her mountainous breasts from the sun. For the purpose of conversation, I was grateful. It's not that I'm offended by the human form, but heaps of oiled,

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-45996891186183345322009-05-12T07:13:00.008-04:002009-05-12T08:15:00.657-04:00

Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Morrissey"If Morrissey doesn't throw a tantrum at least once tonight," I said again on the way to the Royal Albert Hall in London, "I'll be disappointed."I meant it, too. He's notoriously temperamental and shit-fits are at least half his allure. A Morrissey gig without incident is like Mexico without machismo; like the Sixties without psilocybin; like

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-10533867812370904112009-05-09T04:22:00.012-04:002009-05-11T05:16:41.807-04:00

No duvets, pillows or desperationThroughout London, there are signs and warnings indicating what not to do. It's the antithesis to Latin America, where you breathe, eat and sleep at your own risk, without warning of actual and imminent danger.Some warnings I appreciate – keep left, look right – because I'm still new to the reversed flow of this culture. But others are universal common sense –

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-68863206570232617802009-05-06T10:30:00.012-04:002009-05-07T03:20:05.970-04:00

I survived my job with pillsWhen I told people I had a job, instead of asking me what it is I was doing, they'd just say, "Wow!"I try not to take this personally. Jobs and sunshine are rumoured to be on short supply in London. To the general population, any job is now considered a good one, so long as it pays.That's not been my experience though. It's been relatively sunny and warm since I

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-67888259300595858662009-04-25T07:04:00.008-04:002009-04-25T07:36:45.626-04:00

.flickr-photo { border: solid 2px #000000; }.flickr-yourcomment { }.flickr-frame { text-align: left; padding: 3px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Five hours in the UndergroundDon’t ask George for directions. Or, if you do, at least buy one of his papers – they’re only 50 pence.George, more cockney than elderly, has been vending papers at the London Bridge Underground

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-28245511573185895112009-04-07T17:20:00.008-04:002009-04-07T18:24:00.799-04:00

Surviving LondonYou may be wondering, considering my last few posts, whether it was my neighbourhood, a double-decker bus, bubonic smog, Margaret Thatcher or my extremely intense new job that killed me – because clearly that's the only way I'd ever take so long to update.But you should know me better. It was the partying.Look! There I am in my backyard with great intentions to write. It's not my

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-57043040092762677782009-03-26T07:02:00.011-04:002009-03-26T08:16:10.596-04:00

Ice cream is for everyoneWhile I applaud Carlo for bucking multiple conventions with his pink ice cream truck in North London, I do wonder whether – considering his target market – he's chosen the right catch phrase.If Carlo is truly Venetian, and English is indeed his second language, I worry he's not aware of the other, more sordid pun in:Often licked ~ Never beaten.What's more, I worry that he

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-19785004100905120632009-03-24T09:21:00.026-04:002009-03-24T13:05:19.725-04:00

The devil made me do itI was number 666.During a single afternoon, 665 job-seekers managed to find the ad before me. The counter on the online posting told me so, and awakened the little devil on my shoulder.As a new Canadian immigrant in London, vying against thousands of other PR consultants amid Credit Crunch hysteria, growing nationalism and massive job cuts, I've begun to wonder if I might

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-72159157606746009472009-03-23T07:20:00.020-04:002009-03-24T13:21:42.897-04:00

Calling all alternate realitiesI really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really just want to hop a plane to India today

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-91640540306989614652009-03-20T10:19:00.039-04:002009-03-21T09:09:15.746-04:00

It's sunny in London, that I knowLondon has a certain je ne sais quoi that Montreal doesn't have. An edge that's perhaps more accurately described as a certain je ne veux pas savoir quoi. Which means, there's a lot going on here I've yet to figure out, and just as much I don't want to know.Like, what's actually going on in the smoky back room of Billa's Food and Wine store and why he's so jittery

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-78868480329586612002009-03-08T06:14:00.027-04:002009-03-09T11:10:51.733-04:00

A danger to myself and othersAt least once every day, something happens that makes me feel like an idiot, like a poem written by monkeys; a crab in a lobster trap; cents in a pocket of pence; a Canadian in England.I'm usually at fault, so I haven't seen any need to tell you about these incidents. But they're now undeniably, invariably part of my day, so I might as well come clean about my

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-80979398577163626512009-03-05T03:32:00.002-05:002009-03-05T06:18:12.067-05:00

Purple rain, purple rainThis is what rent and a security deposit looks like in London. It looks like my tears.

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-88826610532069695642009-03-03T05:23:00.011-05:002009-03-03T11:32:58.013-05:00

Public partsWhen my boyfriend said he had a surprise for our date last weekend, I didn't expect to find myself looking between the thick, creamy thighs of a complete stranger, and into the fuzz of her nether regions.I wouldn't say I 'met' her exactly, in the Women's toilet at the Nöel Coward Theatre – where he took me to see the hilarious Avenue Q – but rather I marched forth as an unwitting

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-50969570989817339362009-02-28T11:47:00.011-05:002009-03-23T11:06:37.620-04:00

Foe thah rek-ard, I'm faking itScreaming my order over the bar last night for the fourth time, I came to a realisation. The fifth time, I made a decision: I'm going to be nicer to Madonna from now on.She had no choice but to fake an accent and join the ranks of Dick van Dyke when she moved to the United Kingdom. I'm going to be easier on myself about it, too, because the English resolve even

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-59692622453324969672009-02-25T12:17:00.010-05:002009-02-25T15:56:40.012-05:00

So what if I do?Today is the one-week anniversary of my arrival in the United Kingdom, and I'd like to celebrate the highly exciting milestone in a very English way. Hey, it was London's idea, not mine:

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-69605930970860900942009-02-23T21:31:00.017-05:002009-02-24T03:05:07.078-05:00

Good morning, Great Britain!Seat 39K – the one beside the toilet at the very back of the plane and directly across the aisle from the gawking, randy middle-aged man with mustard on his scarf – was all mine.The karma I'd generated in the departures lounge, by turning in a stranger's purse to the security desk, had apparently been lost in airspace. It had occurred to me at the time that I maybe

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-76482696875633083872009-02-22T16:56:00.006-05:002009-02-25T11:30:33.091-05:00

CockfostersWhen the going gets tough, laugh at the names of tube stations on the London Underground, like: Cockfosters.I shit you not. It's near Harringay.

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-28504196664339488122009-02-19T10:33:00.003-05:002009-02-20T04:51:02.598-05:00

Today, I live in LondonAs soon as I figure out how to count quid, speak English, look the wrong way before crossing the street and wake up before the sun even considers rising in Montreal, then I'll deliver you a proper update. Shouldn't take more than a year...

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-37195606398964519262009-02-14T10:24:00.007-05:002009-02-14T11:12:29.479-05:00

Three, two, one...It was already an hour into my going away party, and hours since I'd left the house for dinner at an all-you-can-eat sushi bar, before anyone told me my cardigan was on inside out. When they mimed the message from across the bar, I responded with the Mashed Potato until they gave up. I had other things on my mind – like leaving Montreal, my home of 12 years, for good.And

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-18867533458223117542009-02-08T13:48:00.010-05:002009-02-08T18:18:54.454-05:00

Some signs can't be trustedI'll admit it. Constant reassurance is ... reassuring. That's why I accept all signs I'm headed in the right direction in moving to London. Give me horoscopes; give me British comedy on North American airwaves; give me snow in England. All signs say "Go!"Anything to the contrary, I ignore.According to Jung's personality tests, I'm an Idealist. A very particular kind of

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-51541119789364668732009-02-02T20:38:00.015-05:002009-02-11T04:11:42.288-05:00

Filthy perks of LondonI have a lot of baggage, and I'll unload it on my boyfriend as soon as I get the chance.When he picks me up at Heathrow, he'll help me haul my weight in luggage back to his flat – 120 lbs of my favourite things, the maximum allowed by Air Canada. My life in England begins with this simple recipe: one part each, person and parcel.Empowered by Customs with an entrance stamp,

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-90041744949347824952009-02-01T08:26:00.029-05:002009-02-02T01:54:58.730-05:00

My "real" friends love me anywayPranking friends and mocking people from afar has never been so easy, now that Facebook is on the scene.Cathy's never really pregnant like her status line occasionally suggests, by the way. She's just left her account open on the computer in the main room again. I'm sure she'll appreciate your concern and congratulations regardless, so don't be discouraged by the

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-33722118654250925102009-01-29T22:14:00.022-05:002009-03-23T11:10:13.141-04:00

Just another pretty faceChances are, if you're my friend or have anything in common with me at all, you didn't pick up the July issue of Clin d'oeil – Quebec's premier French-language fashion magazine. And you definitely wouldn't have read the article on horoscopes, fortune-telling and dating – the one I'm in.To readers of the magazine, I'm just another pretty face. Just another woman turning to

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-54665786654466649152009-01-20T18:37:00.039-05:002009-01-21T01:31:27.410-05:00

Why we gotta fight?Outnumbered by the band members, Ricky did what he always does – he ripped off his shirt. In most bars on Crescent Street, that would get you kicked out, but this one caters to the dregs of downtown – schizophrenic alcoholics, drug dealers and the university crowd. And Ricky, who falls into categories one and two, owns it.Set to the right soundtrack, I'd argue the scene was

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-51000651425820029262009-01-15T03:45:00.006-05:002009-01-15T04:09:23.625-05:00

My happy place or yours?When people tell me I'm crazy, it comes out in a sing-song tone. You know the one. I'm sure you've heard it from a few friends if you've ever met "someone special" on the internet, drunkenly applied the 5-second rule to pizza, or dated a girl with "DAN'S BEEF" tattooed on her ass.It's how friends react when they're pretty sure you're screwing up, but glad you're taking one

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-71959619942083361572009-01-08T14:02:00.017-05:002009-01-08T20:42:13.603-05:00

Reason I love to travel #5Travel has taught me that some blessings are extremely well disguised, especially in Guatemala.Tempering any expectations of a smooth trip from the highlands to the islands, before departure we watched a mechanic crawl under our bus with a hammer and some duct tape. So, Cathy and I bought some "emergency" beer for the road.Not an hour into the journey, when the engine

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-50739507928244023002009-01-05T11:55:00.006-05:002009-01-05T13:00:39.604-05:00

French-Canadian food: Ass hamTrue, living in Quebec can be challenging for non-Francophones in terms of finding jobs and apartments, reading contracts, applying for grants, conducting business, dating, ordering food, and dealing with any public service over the phone, but for the hardy few who manage to overcome those minor inconveniences, there are occasional and wondrous rewards, like

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-6191329050157263332009-01-04T21:10:00.012-05:002009-01-05T00:02:27.039-05:00

Pee: The curse in the cureAs it turns out, my grade school bullies were right. I do eat worms and drink pee.It's fair to suggest their twisted little minds planted the idea in my head. As a squeamish child, I'd never have come up with that on my own – not unless one of those stones they threw knocked me in the worms-and-pee section of my brain. It's possible.To my credit, the acts didn't manifest

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-6360030022639638172008-12-16T22:15:00.014-05:002008-12-30T00:47:00.481-05:00

Reason I love to travel #4I've learned that a smile can get me out of all sorts of trouble – particularly when it comes to dealing with the (presumably) self-appointed, easily excitable, bullet proof-vested Nicaraguan beach patrol and its collective libido.Short skirts, on the other hand, only get me into trouble.

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-48885404225166690812008-12-11T13:16:00.031-05:002008-12-17T02:03:43.902-05:00

Fewer things to kill meIf you believe everything my mother tells you, then you'll know she has no moral issue with endangering your life for the sake of 10 minutes of pleasure, or however long it takes to eat her spaghetti.At the family table, it was everyone for their respective self. We didn't say grace, but my mother occasionally kicked off mealtime by announcing the possibility of death,

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-33079220656178882532008-12-08T01:42:00.008-05:002008-12-08T02:33:43.789-05:00

Reason I love to travel #3Travel allows me to hone valuable powers and render them "super", like the ability to sleep anywhere. Anywhere. Even in Miami's mouse-infested airport, surrounded by grumpy strangers:

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-10423930377520119782008-12-04T13:53:00.007-05:002008-12-04T17:05:13.230-05:00

Happenings down belowIf you're a serial killer looking for the perfect spot to first torture, then maim and slaughter your next victim, perhaps you'll consider the basement of my last apartment building. Built circa 1910 and changed very little since, the bowels of the edifice easily surpass the expectations of any set hunter, outdoing even the creative minds behind the creepiest of contemporary

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-1399491369571280152008-12-02T16:13:00.008-05:002008-12-03T20:05:14.772-05:00

Fortune echoes in the voidOf hundreds of meals enjoyed in my Park Avenue apartment, chow mein was my last. It was my $6 reward for having dragged, rolled and huffed another 60 pounds of my former life – the one I had before I decided to relocate to the UK – eight blocks to the donation bin at the local mission. I suppose I could've just used that $6 for a taxi, but then I wouldn't have gotten a

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-84139535035986699322008-11-27T13:58:00.014-05:002008-11-28T00:47:42.811-05:00

The final countdownWhat is 4 x 24? Fewer hours than I have to purge two years of living from my apartment, that's what.In four days, a French PhD student will be sleeping in my bedroom. Actually, she'll be doing whatever she wants in there, and I suppose she'll do it anywhere she wants, just like I did. She might even do it on my sofa. I won't be here to stop her. No matter what she does, I'm

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-66554559845851562472008-11-25T12:50:00.023-05:002008-11-27T15:22:54.001-05:00

Death, lies and dinnerWhen I was small, my parents lied to me all the time. "It's beef," they'd say, and drop a plate on the table. Sometimes, I'd refuse to eat, convinced I'd heard them slip a barely audible "just like" between the "it's" and "beef". It was inhumane, I thought, to hunt wild game and (at that age) equally inhumane to force me to eat vegetables as the alternative. My parents were

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-58835510568437413802008-11-08T14:51:00.039-05:002008-11-09T20:51:15.239-05:00

Putting the 'pet' in petulantIt's dead under a stool in my kitchen right now, and no, I am not going to do anything about it. Not until my visitor has come and gone. He's due in about ten minutes, and I'd hate to be caught red-handed, heartless and with a body on my conscience. Once he leaves, I'll roll it up and carry it at arm's length to the basement – the logical place to stash a corpse.

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-6585076577079109542008-10-29T04:18:00.055-04:002008-11-02T11:56:41.695-05:00

Breaking up with my apartmentThe last time I moved from an apartment, I walked in on strangers having gay sex in my living room.Apparently, there'd been a miscommunication (read: no communication) between me and my recently "exed" boyfriend concerning when the new tenants could have the keys and start moving in. That's the difference a day makes.Our relationship was a recent fatality, having

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-45174853518354324852008-10-08T20:15:00.013-04:002008-12-08T02:09:14.744-05:00

Reason I love to travel #2If I put on a brave face for the camera, even if only for a few seconds, someone will snap a photo that will make me seem tough for all eternity – not because I like to eat bugs.Costa Rican Crunch, originally uploaded by Kate Savage.

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-70086288537319621282008-10-03T19:40:00.031-04:002008-10-05T16:24:31.698-04:00

The 'big prize' for learning French"I should warn you," said my friend, J, who's witnessed every bad dating decision I've made since becoming single again two years ago. "Grand Prix asked about you." Grand Prix is a friend of a friend of a friend, and the sort of guy who could be attractive if he changed his shirt, cut back on the beer and said something coherent, but that's just not his

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-20427994004969678182008-10-01T04:44:00.003-04:002008-12-08T02:00:38.352-05:00

Reason I love to travel #1I get to take pictures of Teletubbies-lovin' child Christs. Not everyone can say that.Señor Santo Niño and the smoker, originally uploaded by Kate Savage.

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-49870783340456966552008-09-24T13:32:00.009-04:002008-10-04T15:20:53.053-04:00

I'm someone's favouriteSo, I pour myself a cup of coffee and head over to BlogHer – a vast network of women bloggers that's been getting quite a bit of recognition in the press lately, and to which I submit my own writing – for my morning fix of other people's tales of travel and sex and relationships, my two favourite categories by far.Spotting Blogher editor, Liz Rizzo's article, BlogHers Tell

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-57723580395105411132008-09-16T16:56:00.017-04:002008-09-25T20:21:16.136-04:00

Monogamy, and dys-sex-ia"I told him, 'If we're going to be monogamous, I think I want to get a DUI,'" confided my friend Cathy – a barely recovering commitmentphobe with her first serious boyfriend in years – "and he just stared back at me like an idiot and didn't say anything. Can you believe that?"She sipped her pint and waited for a reaction – for me to express disgust, incredulity, and

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-15141597776340508212008-09-11T22:17:00.010-04:002008-09-11T23:07:01.936-04:00

Merrymaking with mischief-makersI love to travel solo, but when the little monsters asked to accompany me on my first trip to England and Ireland, I couldn't refuse. I really couldn't. They're monsters, and I just can't risk responsibility for inciting their wrath. Thankfully, my best friend in London agreed to help chaperone the unpredictable and tactless duo during my three-week sojourn. The

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-63226665361724234602008-09-10T16:05:00.036-04:002009-01-08T20:14:36.008-05:00

Sixty minutes in a London pub, some degree of separation"Kyahnahseetahayah?" frothed the Rugby-sized pub regular. His substantial ass imagined itself small enough to wedge in next to me on the over-sized chair in the London pub."Can you sit here?" I repeated for clarification, but said ass was already testing the possibility and subsequently established, at the misfortune of my left thigh, that

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-12738419095984435132008-09-08T13:35:00.003-04:002008-09-09T02:09:46.804-04:00

The right peopleHere's yet another reason why it's good to make friends with photographers.

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-39512482857851941482008-08-26T14:37:00.035-04:002008-09-21T03:32:41.121-04:00

How Ireland nearly did my head inGenerally, guided tours aren't my deal. Something to do with not being a herd animal, and something else to do with the risk inherent in entrusting my life and happiness to a potentially overzealous herdsman whilst crammed into a minibus with any sort of mammal for hours at a time. Very few scenarios can push me to a guided tour, like fear for my life, for example

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-85386559504628757272008-08-23T09:52:00.012-04:002008-09-03T06:44:24.581-04:00

From London with love

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-88265066996037016582008-08-19T13:56:00.006-04:002008-08-19T14:04:20.075-04:00

I like him as much...I'll share more details when I return from Ireland in a few days, but for now, I've exhausted myself setting the stage with the previous entry, Cabbie love. (See below.)What I can tell you for certain is this:I like him (the man I met on the internet via a best friend who ridiculously wishes to be known in my blog, from this day on, as La Perla Esperanza) as much as can be

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-24006391562843797302008-08-19T12:17:00.008-04:002008-09-05T01:22:34.071-04:00

Cabbie love"I got my wife and family for $1400," my cab driver shouted over the wail of a siren, turning around so I could see the full breadth of his grin."That's quite a bargain!" I shouted back, and we shared a laugh that drowned out everything else.He was driving me to the airport, where I was to barely catch a flight to London. Within the first few blocks, I'd already excitedly informed him

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-45331021660846421232008-08-12T03:14:00.007-04:002008-08-19T14:07:27.168-04:00

Clover, 11:11 and other people's birthday candlesI'm willing to use any tactic I can to make what's about to happen as fun as is romantically possible. And it's about time I update and tell you all about it.Remember when I admitted to you that I met an English boy on the internet? And then I went on to describe that, despite how wonderful he is, I'm totally embarrassed about how we've met? And

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-42406020051328257642008-08-04T08:54:00.079-04:002008-08-05T05:35:02.326-04:00

Skanky half-naked bush-dwellersThe first time the security guard caught me in my underwear, he made me put my clothes back on. The second time, he was a little more lenient."You're not allowed to be here," he said. I was standing knee-deep in a pool of water, just below a mini-waterfall – a scene suitable for low-budget porn, on the island built for Expo '67. It's been party central for 41 messy

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-27554873538768583792008-08-02T13:28:00.026-04:002008-08-03T10:08:21.212-04:00

The real thingI've finally found what I've been not-so-secretly looking for all my life. It's the sort of thing that either is, or isn't. That you find or you don't. And now, I have it. I really might be the luckiest girl in the world.On quite a few occasions, I've thought I'd found it – stomach-flipping sure I'd found one – only to look a little closer and see that one part was missing, one

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-69778924346117654622008-07-28T13:26:00.025-04:002008-07-29T14:52:02.478-04:00

Kiss, or just Tell"I told my parents you're my girlfriend," he casually announced, mid-conversation, like I shouldn't be surprised."What!?"It was ten years ago. He was a writer/editor for Vice Magazine when it had just gone glossy – back when one of its co-founders still lived behind a curtain at the office, before its headquarters moved to New York, and my friends and I were occasionally

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-88914814703168671002008-07-26T15:32:00.014-04:002008-07-28T09:02:35.620-04:00

Cheerleader: POSITION FILLEDThere's a rogue cheerleader in my neighbourhood and he's chosen me as his cause. I'm not sure whether I deserve unbridled enthusiasm for every public move I make, but I can't say it isn't nice.He's short, he's pot-bellied, he's undergone years of psychotherapy because, he said, his parents abandoned him with his unstable aunt and her 28 cats, but this grey-haired,

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-64278327967313647402008-07-22T15:09:00.026-04:002008-07-23T02:04:08.642-04:00

Pork and Poker, they didMy hometown on the east coast of Canada is the sort where everyone knows your name, like the small town version of the classic show, Cheers, but not as friendly and with more alcohol.While I left nearly twelve years ago, my immediate family still lives there, and I'm very interested in whatever happens, because it probably involves someone I know. Thanks to at-home

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-34594847765849343082008-07-18T17:28:00.027-04:002008-07-26T16:04:11.350-04:00

Haven't we met? If not, we will.Yesterday, the universe poked me. Hard.For the purpose of learning from the experience, and sharing it with you, I'll pretend I believe that the universe is a will-exercising entity. A sexy one with a sense of humour, and a penchant for reminding us that Earth plays but a teeny, yet scandalous, role in the Big Picture.The day ended with the full moon eyeballing me

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-15915215648595810732008-07-16T16:45:00.023-04:002008-07-18T15:02:41.802-04:00

Naked in the back yardMy mouth was still agape when my friend's neighbour came out into their communal courtyard to see what all the laughter and chatter was about, and caught me kneeling on the ground with my camera, taking pictures of the terrible thing she'd done.Our eyes met, and I wasn't sure what to say. Both mortified and fascinated, I had a flashback to my junior high school library,

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-71102338676826835372008-07-13T22:37:00.026-04:002008-07-18T15:10:53.515-04:00

You might as well hear it from me – I met a boy on the internet. I just said that out loud, didn't I?If you look to the top of this page, and re-read the introductory blurb in that little partitioned box, you might notice it's worded a little awkwardly. It's not my fault, it's just that there's no other way to say it in the 500 allowed characters without rewriting the paragraph. And I've got no

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-34780853342653088402008-07-11T02:15:00.003-04:002008-07-11T02:19:45.006-04:00

Update? Sunday-ish.I tried. I did. But I couldn't. I'm on vacation and spread too thin. The promised update (already half-written) is coming on Sunday the 13th. Yes. Of this month. The odd affair it will mention is ongoing. And wonderful. And he's on vacation in Turkey, so I'll even get away with saying what I want about him/it for an extra week.I love you all for waiting so patiently for my

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-60102236746517608692008-07-03T02:24:00.003-04:002008-07-03T02:32:44.679-04:00

The elusive updateIt's coming, it really is. Apparently it takes updates slightly longer to reach you when I write them from my hometown, where I'm currently visiting family and friends I haven't seen for months (read: fattening up on barbecued everything and probably drinking too much). But the update's coming. And soon. I've already started it. It's going to be about a man I met on the internet

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-24696106245021971082008-06-26T11:13:00.009-04:002008-06-27T02:24:17.326-04:00

The grocery whispererThe new cashier at the discount grocery store knows he stands out from the rest. Dressed entirely in black, he's literally a stark contrast from the bubble-gum-outfitted cashiers, with logos spanning their asses, making saucy declarations like PINK and JUICY, that I try not to think too much about.This market is the sort of work environment that thrives on chaos, where I

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-42259777319127123252008-06-21T08:15:00.012-04:002008-06-28T03:38:38.805-04:00

Iron Maiden's maidensWhen I agreed, last minute, to help a friend and work at Montreal's first Heavy MTL festival, I knew, I just knew there was fun to be had. I mean, I know basically nothing about heavy metal or its hardcore followers, so it was in the name of hilarity that I signed up, and brought a few friends along. When all was said and done, it was probably the most fun I've ever had

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-29753133320294227992008-06-18T14:04:00.005-04:002008-06-20T10:36:53.284-04:00

Death, destruction and deprivation: A lesson in cat-sittingThree times I've poked the cat to make sure he's dead. But every time, he manages to revive himself. Initially, I was worried because he appeared to be falling into bits, like the doomed goldfish I had when I was five, but now I'm finding swirling, autonomous clumps of him all over the house, like mogwai spawn. Gremlins. I have gremlins

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-69477585417962728832008-06-16T22:18:00.014-04:002008-06-17T13:29:18.917-04:00

P is for Park, and PervertDear PP (Park Pervert),I'm not sure if the video will be for your private collection, or one of those voyeur websites I've seen, with videos of unsuspecting women on beaches in bikinis (and maybe a little nipple here and there), but I'm quite sure you'll be winning no awards for today's footage. If I thought you might, I'd ask for a cut of the profits. Or, a "thank-you"

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-72561694359906962012008-06-12T22:12:00.013-04:002008-06-13T01:40:41.625-04:00

Ghost in the latrine"I think I have a poltergeist in my bathroom," I said over the phone to my best friend in London, and I was completely serious. It was the only explanation I could conjure on the spot, because what was happening just didn't make any easy sense, and the noise of it was distracting. Bang. Bang. Flop.We were well overdue for catching up, and I wanted to give her my full attention

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-15458093201140257932008-06-10T23:24:00.015-04:002008-06-12T23:53:11.905-04:00

Misunderestimated Supervillains (after last call)"Is that for measuring my dick?" He aimed a dirty sausage-finger at the measuring tape on my costume. "Yeah, cuz it might not be long enough, harrrrrgh," his wing-man piped in, while the rest of their torso-heavy buddies formed a semi-circle around us and guffawed, as was expected. They kept piping it in, too, spewing as much crap as spittle,

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-41598965859208237352008-06-09T01:16:00.043-04:002008-06-10T04:50:04.633-04:00

Unaccompanied women"Where did she get that travel bug?" My parents still live in the small, fairly traditional community where they raised me and field the question all the time. What people are really asking is: Why hasn't she settled down yet? No husband? No boyfriend? No kids? No husband?! No boyfriend?! No kids?!And what they're thinking is: We always knew she was a lesbian...[pause]...or a

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-67946949443118109892008-06-05T15:09:00.085-04:002008-06-12T20:46:40.162-04:00

Guerrillas, Freemasons, Rastafarians and me: 60 days in Central AmericaI was just too tired to meet Subcomandante Marcos, masked revolutionary/spokesperson for Mexico's Zapatista movement, (EZLN). Besides, he's notorious for standing people up. My trip was already Jewel of the Nile-meets-Blood Diamond, and I wasn't going to go trekking blindly through the backwoods of Chiapas, after a 24-hour bus

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-80736922858479671102008-06-02T19:08:00.082-04:002008-06-04T04:10:34.732-04:00

Dating under the giant phallusThe Catholic church has overseen my last few half-hearted/no-hearted attempts at relationships, literally. The exact same imposing steeple was visible from each bedroom where I've played guest, a constant feature of my Walk(s) of Shame and an enormous phallic reminder that Montreal can be a very small pond.Living here for more than a decade, I've somehow,

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-30705873601775172042008-05-30T11:38:00.019-04:002008-05-31T03:45:14.993-04:00

My sister's big gunsMy oldest sister, the light-eyed blonde of the family, has legs up to her neck. She's the only one of us to ever have abs (or boobs, really), and she can make you beg for mercy in a matter of seconds, regardless of your gender. That's the power of her honed-to-perfection one-handed, joint-crushing finger-squeeze.Hate her with me: She's a tall, slender mother-of-one enjoying

Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5