Funny names, bis

You have to remember; these are actual names that I come accross whilst translating files.

Claire Lavoie

Now for English readers who do not "get it", it pretty much translates to "Get out of the way".

Hopefully, she will not marry someone like, say, Roger Ferré...

She could then be called Claire Lavoie-Ferré!!! (Get off the train track)

I'm sorry, a little French translation humour.... :)

Back to work now.

"Write a letter to yourself..."

A last note on that trailer-thrash saga!!!

In the midst of all the letters that were "exposed" from the prick mentionned below, the only letter I have ever sent to him surfaced! I never kept it, so I forgot I even wrote the thing! It was included among other letters that had "randier" content from other not-so-prudent ladies....... Actually, I was quite surprised that he had kept it after all this time...what I don't like is that my name was attached to it, but not to worry. I was always a courteous and prudent girl.... And never actually met him! So nothing embarassing for me...On the contrary, I'm quite proud of my gut instinct! It was very strange, like revisiting a feeling I forgot I already felt!!!

Oh yeah!!! Now I remember....


..."I hope we will get a chance to talk, for I would love to hear all about what made you decide to move from the UK to here; among other things! I would very much like to have a pleasant conversation over a Guiness with an interesting man in the near future; very appealing occurence indeed.

I have deleted my account on ********; I'm not very comfortable with this way of meeting new people; somehow, conversations and general reasons for people actually being there seem biased and to my (predicted) opinion, a little "fake"...:) and it is very time-consuming, more so than I actually want to invest. I am certain that many persons of quality use this sort of system for dating & meeting, but to my opinion the % of people who take the time to let those qualities be seen is minimal, and my faith in life and the unexpected tells me not to force things; I am willing to take a chance on what will come my way! :)

It would be my pleasure to make your acquaintance on MSN if you should be interested; until then, I shall walk the streets of Ottawa with my eyes open and a smile on my face; perhaps we shall cross paths.

Here's to the unpredictable; cheers! :) "

I'm so....forgetful?
Why did I try this again?
Anyone?

Veni, Vidi, and f***ed off

I did say that I would keep you posted on my cyber-searches for a potential boyfriend/lover/friend - or something in between. And as you remember, I did have huge reserves about the whole thing, (understandably so) and my friend Blue even told me that "Internet meeting was for guys who wanted to have to have sex with you without having to buy you a drink", which I thought was very funny, yet, so disturbingly accurate. But something happened over the weekend that I want to share with you. You might find it rather amusing.

About two years ago, when I gave this Internet dating (yet) another chance, I came across some British guy named **** (Yep, I'm a sucker for brits what can I say - Bridges was seduced at first handle, which was, if I remember correctly, something like "cool_bloke" or "normal_bloke" anyway something with bloke in it, which made it clear to me that we indeed were confronted with some guy from the UK. The picture he posted on line was a graduation picture; there he was, looking very "graduated", with the square hat (how do you call these again?) and diploma in hand. "OK, I thought, looks interesting." So I chatted a little bit online with him, he wanted to see a picture of me, which is legitimate, so I sent the one my editor uses on publicity communiqués, which is a close up of my face, looking all very intellectual, yet, sexy, as marketing should be. :) "You're hot, he said, but then, he added, do you have another one? Why did he want another one.... he wants to make sure I'm who I say I am is what I thought. OK...he was charming, but something told me this guy was dodgy. But I looked for another picture anyway in my computer drive, and quickly found one of me in England, where I was wearing sunglasses and leather jacket in a village somewhere, and sent it to him. "I can't see your face properly he said, send me another one. "What's the point, I said. You have 2 already! Why would you want another one? I was getting pissed off. "Well, he added, I want to see if you're fuckable or not." You have to keep in mind this conversation was taking place in an MSN chat box.

As you can imagine, I told him to go screw himself, and deleted him from my contacts, blocked him, and deleted my whole Internet dating profile, completely disgusted. This guy was acting all suave and charming all the while acting like a complete asshole and not trying to conceal it; not even at least until the first date! No, he was a true wanker from the start. Cyber creep easily uncovered, easily deleted. That was the end of my cyber-dating antics, two years ago.

Saturday morning, when I logged in my MSN account, I noticed I had about 12 new messages. That was a bit surprising, since I almost never use that account. There was a message from a girl I didn't know, and it was "sent to all" to about 50 other e-mail addresses, which many had the word "sexy" or "lady" or "girl" in it. Here are some bits of it: "Open Letter to A*** R****A*, It was a pleasure to have met you after our chat on Plenty of Fish (al-21). However, after meeting you..and from my experience, I could spot a RAT immediately. You would be that rat. Although you say you are 'becoming' unattached, from the emails following, it would appear that is not the case at all. (...)"What the ??? I thought. Who is this A*** R***? I took me a while, but after reading the message, I remembered the British creep from a while back.You certainly have a lot of women, willingly and stupidly having sex with you ---J*****, you really should make Alan wear a little wetsuit next time! As you can see, you are not the only girl he has screwed. This is only a sampling of emails from women and the like--I simply did not have the time to send them all. Pay particular attention to the dates and times of the emails. For example, in one day..."And then she goes on about Mr. What's his face's goings-on. This woman HACKED his email account, went through it, uncovered his nasty ways, then, made it public by sending ALL of it to ALL the addresses in his account (and somehow my address was still in there - go figure) I didn't bother reading all of it (because there was a shite load, let me tell ya) a real CYBER-JERRY SPRINGER SHOW!!! Very, very trashy.I thought that was very funny. Especially that I wasn't involved in any way in the "scandal"... The only un-funny part, is all the women who had their private messages sent to people they didn't know! I felt bad for the women involved, some of the messages were pretty raunchy!!! BUT...that guy is a creep, and he got what he deserved... That was my opinion anyway. But that's not the funniest part!After these messages were sent to all, other messages came in...from angry, pissed-off women who had tasted Mr. what's his face's medicine and had a bone to pick with him who were clearly rejoicing about what was happening to the British creep."A*, try pulling the computer out of your ass -- you know, the one that your girlfriend *** probably shoved up it. Jerk." "What comes around goes around." "As well, when you are acting like a jerk, you should know you're going to end up with a knife in the back! Hell hath no fury..."The guy involved in this mess, the infamous A***, sent an apologetic message to all trying to discredit the mysterious sender-ess, saying "I have been the victim of a hacker to my email account and all emails (approximately 2 years worth) have been removed. This included personal emails from friends as well as bank account /credit card information. The person responsible has then distributed both my mail and edited text to all of you as well as other false information..." Yeah right.... edited text.... Talk about trying to cover your ass in the dead of winter.... :)I feel sorry for the women who had personal info divulged, really. I am SOOOOO not sorry for that asshole. Turns out this guy's a cop. As the voice of the original Fred Flintstone would say, "Yabadaba-fuckin-doo." Makes all women around feel safe and secure when they fantasize about men in uniforms.As for me, well, my cyberdating days are over. I deleted everything like a mad woman, telling myself "WHAT THE FUCK DID I THINK WAS GONNA HAPPEN????" I'm absolutely terrorized about it now! No way I'm ever trying that again...I'll stick to good ol' chance meetings from now on...Excuse me while I go hide under the covers and thank my sixth sense AND my University education for my intuition...

Funny names

Sometimes you come accross people who have hilarious names. Today, I learned about Bonnie Power's existence.

Do you think she works for Energizer Corporation?

Bonnie Power
Energizer Corporation

Now that's a name that keeps on going, and going, and....

All right, you got the picture. :)

Translation humour

A file to translate was sent to me today, with the ASAP mention on it, just a very little file, one of those less than 100 words that I can do in basically no time at all. It did, however, stimulate my (graphic) imagination skills as well as my litterary skills. As a translator, you always have to understand what the text is all about, and when you do marketing, you have to get the grasp of what the product actually is and what it does so you can "capture the essence" better and make it easily decipherable to the readers. This particular product gave me a hard time (pardon the pun) figuring it out. It's a...well...marketing text for a "pharmaceutical" product. See for yourself :

"XXXXX’s lubrication enhances personal intimacy and sexual pleasure, as well as relieves dryness. (OK, we know what they're talking about here....) XXXXX uses a unique pumping system for no-mess, no-spill lubrication in any direction" er....what??? are we still talking about lubrication or did they mix up their bodily fluids here? Lubrication in any direction? Meaning....No spills of lubricant in the area WHERE you put the lubricant, or around the unique pumping system?...or....a unique pumping system for a no-spill LUBRICANT USAGE CONSEQUENCE in any direction? Huh? Now that's an infomercial I want to see. I thought about making it funny for the French readers, but in the end, my professional conscience won. It's a shame though, don't you think? :)

Adventures in cyberdating

Is it just me? Or is cyberdating already passé?

Allright, allright. Everybody who has tried their keyboards and cyber-wit @ cyberdating raise their mouses. Come on....be honest! I promise I will!

I tried dating websites a long time ago, right after I got separated from my husband. It kind of dit what I expected it to do at the time, that is, meeting men for the sole purpose of having a go at some girl-boy action. Post your picture, a few suave witty words and some elusive reference to sex and you're pretty much done. Wait for men to send you their cyber-winks, you cyber-giggle or press the delete button, and if you like what you "see", then you meet up somewhere, and well, let nature take its course, be it pleasurable or just plain disapointing. But what follows after that first encounter is where the gender difference hits you. Women expect to be called back, and men, well, they expect women to disapear back into cyberspace. Don't get me wrong, now. Dating, be it by meeting through the Internet or in the flesh is always a complicated and confusing mess. But past casual sex expectations, cyberdating always seemed a little "empty" to me (OK sue me : a woman recently separated who finds herself single after being with the same man since....puberty tends to get a little excited in the knickers department.) In other words, well, there wasn't much "meat on the bone" there. I never encoutered somebody worth calling back. And when I thought I did, he turned out to be a major creep. For some reason, I think men and women use the "tool" for different reasons. Or maybe we're all just kidding ourselves. We just want to be loved and adored, right here, right now, the way we want it, by someone gorgeous and intelligent and sexually open (for men) and emotionnaly mature (for women) and we're all in denial about it.

Of course, I can only speak from a woman's point of view. I'm giving this cyber-dating thing another go, tongue in cheek, of course. I'll tell you all about it. Wish me luck. I'll try not to be too sarcastic about it. But it WILL be difficult. :)

Time managing for overworked single moms

It is freezing this morning in Ottawa. Minus 25, and my bedroom windows were all foggy. Do I really have to get out of bed Mum? Oh, wait a minute...I'm the mummy. Oops. My son came to snuggle up with me as soon as he heard the radio alarm go off; I was still in a daze, deciding if it was really worth it to get out from under the covers, trying to think of a lame excuse I could use against myself.

-Let's stay in this morning sweetie. Mummy doesn't want to get up.
-OK mum. But what will we do?
-Let's stay in bed.
-But why?

OK, OK, I got you. I have no excuse. At htis point my daughter comes in the room, happy, turns on the light, and screams "GET UP MUMMY!!! You'll be late!!!"

All, right, all right!!! Geese....Even my kids won't let me be inadequate just once. Fine. Better hurry up; surely the office will need my help. Now that's a reason to get up.

Nookie in Ottawa, part II

Would you even believe? Mr. United Nations turned out to be some kind of a sociopathic freak.

I drove to downtown Ottawa around 7 o'clock along with my friend S. (she kind of talked me into it) and we headed out to Big Daddy's on Elgin, which is like the "hot spot" for happenin' singles in Ottawa (I think it's the only semi-official meat market place for people over 30 in this town, please do correct me if I'm wrong people) and we were both in a good mood, and to be honest I didn't feel like going to dinner with the guy in the first place, and S. was trying to convince me not to call him at all. But since I had previously agreed to go out...

-Hello Bridges?
-Hey....Mr. United Nations! How are you?
-er...fine, fine, and yourself?
-I'm good, thanks
-er...I'm fine, you?
-...
-I'm ok!
-...
-...so.....what are you doing tonight Bridges?
-Well I'm meeting some friends at Big Daddy's, but since I told you we could meet tonight, I thought you would like to join me there? Unless you had other plans for us?

(semi-long hesitation pause)

-No, no, you decide...

(note to the reader : one of my biggest turn-offs is when a man asks me out and tells me I GET TO DECIDE WHERE...I make decisions all the time, I want to be taken out for crisse's sakes! I can go out where I want when I'm on my own, thank you very much...when somebody offers to take you out, you kind of expect them to know WHERE they want to take you out, no? Is it just me?)

-Er...OK Mr. United Nations...I'll call you back around 8h30.
-OK bye!

That was the conversation. He was going to meet me there, with my friend S., and we'd... sorry...I was going to figure it out later. When we got in at BD's, we joined some of S's friends who were already there having dinner, we sat with them, said hello to other people we knew (Jeff-the-video-producing guy was there, I'll tell you about him some other time, you're going to loooove him), we made new friends, ordered some booze, and basically, chatted and enjoyed ourselves. Then

Mr.United Nations arrived. I said hello, introduced him to S, the rest of the gang, and asked him if he wanted to leave straight away, expecting him to say "yes".

-No, I'll have a beer first.
-OK then!

He went to get himself a beer, of course S. thought he was hideous and so did I to be honest, he really wasn't like I remebered him, it must have been really dark in the pub when I gave this dude my mobile number. I know, I know, that's not a very nice thing to say, but there, I said it. Not only was he short, he was (close to) butt-ugly. What the hell was I thinking???? There was absolutely no tingling in the small of my back and no loosening of the pelvian muscles, I can tell you that. But then I thought "Wait a minute Bridges. He must have a great personnality".

Yeah, whatever.

So he's off at the bar, BD's is crowded, S. and I are chatting away with the girls, and I kind of forget about him. I turn around 10 minutes later, he's got his back next to me and is not talking to anyone, at all. 20 minutes later, he was missing in action.

-Er, Bridges, where's Mr. United Nations?
-I don't know! He was right there 2 minutes ago!
-Well he's gone babe!
-What????
-He's gone!

I looked around, and S. was right. Mr. United Nations was nowhere to be seen. He must have abandonned ship. Oh well...I thought...

-High five girl!
-What?
-Hi-five! He's gone, now we can party on!
-Yeah, but that's weird...he just vanished!
-Whatever!
-Whatever!

And we burst-out laughing, shrugged our shoulders, and toasted our gin-oranges with special 2 1/2 ounces of gin in each, thanks to the professional services of Danny, our lovely (and very sexy) bartender.

A bit later in the evening, after many, many conversations with tons of people and even more gin-oranges, S. kicks me under the table, and points to the back of the bar, next to the washrooms.

-Bridges! Look!
-What? Where? Who?
-Look! It's Mr United Nations!

And she was right. Mr. United Nations was sitting at the bar, alone, drinking a beer, watching me like a hawk, and giving me really, really unpleasant looks. What? What the hell was that, I thought. He's giving me the "you're-not-giving-me-any-attention-so-I'll-just-go-sulk-in-the-corner-so-you-can-see-me-and-feel-sorry-for-me-you-bitch" routine, and I don't even know the guy.

-DON'T give him any attention...he looks weird!
-What the fuck is this guy's problem? He disapears and then he gives me the "you bitch!" look?

Mr. United Nations had been sitting there for, I don't know, about 90 minutes without giving any sign of life, now I see him watching me from way over there, and he doesn't look very happy. I feel stalked. Nice. Now I really want to meet the guy...

All of a sudden, He gets up, walks straight to me with a mean look on his face, looking royally pissed-off and says, as he's walking past, "Good night Bridges".

-Er...where have you been all evening?
-I was waiting for you to be alone; but you're too busy...
-Well why didn't you join the conversation and the group instead of running away?
-I don't like people around you.
-But...we're in a BAR!! Did you expect me to run after you?
-No, but I'm not going to run after you either! Goodnight!


Pffff...whatever, dude. I turn around, and lift an eyebrow in disbelief, confused and a bit shocked, really, to feel like a stalked girlfriend who was just caught cheeting on her man. I look at S. who lifts her glass to me, smiling.

-Well Bridges, that's got to be the best news of the night!
-What's that...
-One less sociopath running after you! Cheers!

Crazy girl. Well, she's right, you know. I should be thankful. I gave her a big wet kiss on the cheek.

Danny! I'll have another one. Make it a double!


-

Looking for nookie in Ottawa : Bridges back on the (dating) field without a helmet

I am a bit disturbed for tonight. (I am a bit disturbed PERIOD, but please, let's focus on this post, shall we?) See, I am a woman who hasn't dated in a while. I have been out almost every week, don't get me wrong; a woman has to stay social if she wants to remain psychologically sane (so to speak). But an official date? It's been a while. Thing is, I'm not even sure if I like the guy. In fact, I think I let myself get dragged into something I was a bit reluctant to do in the first place. But he did ask for my number last week, I did give it to him, and yes, he did call me and asked me if I would like to see him. I said....er...OK. Was I excited? Happy? Not bothered? The last option would be more likely. But then, if I'm not bothered, then why should I agree to meet him? Surely I can find better things to do on a Friday night! Come on! This is Ottawa! Land of the conservative tight-ass and early nights! Don't listen to me...But please, try if you must to cheer me up. You see folks, this Bridges is getting very, very weary and lonely, and if she wants to try and get some, as they say, she's gonna have to make the effort to break the January ice and put a little, make that a lot (what the hell - give me the whole jug) of water in her wine.

Waiter! Can I have the Bridges special please - Evian and Chardonnay...yes, the Australian one darling, and make that fast, I'm about to change my mind again...

It is now late afternoon, I am still at the office, trans-trans-translating away, and I am supposed to meet Mr.United Nations diplomat @ 8 h 30. I'm not nervous nor excited - this guy is not even 5'8 and my hormones usually don't start kicking before 5'12, but not to worry. At least it's a story to tell you about.

A girl has to start somewhere. Wish me luck.

Le Passeur, introduction

"Je me présente, Sophie Lafleur. Je suis traductrice, écrivaine, maman, épouse et trentenaire, entre autres. Je traverse présentement une crise existentielle plutôt violente que je réussis à garder sous contrôle en écrivant de la fiction. Laissez-moi vous expliquer. Voyez-vous, il n’y a pas bien longtemps, je travaillais à la traduction de paroles de chansons pour une compagnie de disques (des chansons de nunuches anglophones que la compagnie voulait transformer en refrains de midinettes françaises) et j’ai fait la connaissance d’un musicien, ingénieur de son de son métier, qui m’a tapé dans l’œil, c’est le moins qu’on puisse dire. Il est rapidement devenu mon amant (mon premier parmi tant d’autres, je vous raconterai) et depuis cette rencontre, je mène une double vie, si l’on veut. Tout en poursuivant mes activités de mère, d’épouse (de Lee, mon ingénieur anglophone de mari), de traductrice et de maîtresse, (oui, car je suis la maîtresse de mon amant, cette histoire devient de plus en plus tordue finalement) j’écris un roman. Je ne peux pas vous en dire plus à ce sujet, sauf qu’il s’agit de mon deuxième, le premier n’ayant jamais été publié pour des raisons que j’ignore.

Non, je ne suis pas celle que vous croyez.

En vous répétant cette phrase, je vois des femmes, toutes alignées les unes derrière les autres dans les coulisses d’un théâtre, défiler à la suite sur une scène dépouillée, devant une salle vide, chacune attendant le moment de décrier cette phrase à sa manière. Certaines la crient : JE NE SUIS PAS CELLE QUE VOUS CROYEZ! D’autres la pleurent, dramatiques à souhait, je ne suis pas cellllle que vous croyeeeez…D’autres s’esclaffent, la répètent à voix haute tout d’un trait, défiantes, en riant, puis quittent la scène sans en faire une. D’autres, comme moi, s’éternisent, choisissent de l’écrire, tout simplement, et de regarder passer les autres. Chacune son tour, une à une, je ne suis pas celle…je ne suis pas celle…SUIVANTE ! Je ne suis pas celle que vous croyez, et ainsi de suite, de toutes les couleurs, encore une, ad nauséam, à chaque fois la même phrase, différente, la même phrase. Nous y tenons toutes, à ces mots. Même les plus obéissantes d’entres nous refoulons en elles-mêmes la conviction de ne pas être celle que vous croyez.
Je vous avertis tout de suite, mesdames. L’histoire que vous vous apprêtez à lire en est une de vérités et de mensonges, de tromperies et d’aveux, de confessions et de dissimulations, mais surtout, surtout, d’incertitudes et de doutes. Un peu comme la vie, la vraie. Pas celle des romans. Celle qui fait mal et qui laisse des traces. Vous vous retrouverez sûrement dans cette histoire, vous n’aurez aucune peine à vous identifier à l’une ou l’autre des héroïnes, puisque c’est aussi de votre histoire à vous qu’il s’agit. N’est-ce pas le propre des lectrices de romans de filles de se projeter dans l’héroïne ? Peut-être suis-je prétentieuse de croire que l’histoire que je vais vous raconter pourrait arriver à n’importe laquelle d’entre nous, qu’elle se passe, des centaines, des milliers de fois sans que l’on sache qu’on n’est pas la seule à se la raconter, à se faire raconter la même histoire. J’ai déjà entendu qu’un écrivain passait sa vie à écrire la même histoire; qu’en est-il de la vie ayant précédé l’écriture? De la vie pendant l’écriture ? Est-ce qu’un écrivain passe sa vie à se répéter ?

Je vous l’ai peut-être volée, votre histoire, alors que vous ne regardiez pas. Lorsque vous ne faisiez pas attention à ce qui se passait autour de vous, que votre nez se trouvait un peu trop près de la vitre, un peu comme moi lorsque j’ai décidé d’écrire ma version de l’histoire. Peut-être sommes-nous toutes en train de mener la même vie et on ne le sait pas ! C’est le propre de l’écriture, finalement; nous vivons toutes la même vie ici, en même temps, dans le livre. Ne faites pas attention à moi, ne m’écoutez pas, je divague. C’est ce que je fais de ma vie, maintenant. Je divague. Je suis écrivaine, mais pour gagner ma vie, je traduis aussi. Une variation maîtrisée de la divagation du langage. J’ai déjà traduit des romans d’amour aussi, si on peut appeler ça des romans, mais maintenant je me consacre surtout à des traductions plus réalistes, plus terre à terre, je vous raconterai."

Les résolutions du nouvel an de Bridges

C'est le 4 janvier, et je viens tout juste de terminer mon lunch avec S. Sur la terrasse, dehors, à l'extérieur. Nous avons fait un pique-nique. En plein mois de janvier. À Ottawa, aujourd'hui, il fait 11 degrés, et un soleil d'enfer. On se croirait au Club Med, sans la plage, les G.O. sexy, les pinas coladas et les palmiers. Bon, OK, OK, c'est encore Ottawa, mais il fait beau, et je suis de bonne humeur, malgré un petit rhume qui se pointe. Ce soir je me ferai un petit remontant de whisky blanc, afin de faire durer l'illusion du Club Me(r)d(e).