Friday, December 28, 2007
"...soon will be making another run..."
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 11:37 AM 2 people had something to say
Labels, love Bridges' life snippets
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Bumps in the road
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 11:48 AM 0 people had something to say
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Saturday, October 27, 2007
Souvenirs d'enfance au goût du jour
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 11:21 AM 7 people had something to say
Labels, love Translation humour
Friday, October 26, 2007
Meet the Professor
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 2:14 PM 0 people had something to say
Labels, love Adventures in dating
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Trop féministe?
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 3:47 PM 1 people had something to say
Labels, love Bridges moments of clarity
Friday, October 19, 2007
Irony, life is all about irony
We have a date tonight. Café Paradiso.
Tomorrow, rugby finals.
Life is good.
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 3:10 PM 1 people had something to say
Labels, love Adventures in dating, Bridges' life snippets
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Divas @ work
Sent: October 3, 2007 10:00 AM
To: Mr. Kopinski
Subject: just a thought
…and it would be very nice to have a parking pass for the underground lot for the winter, if possible (I think one shall become available soon?)
From: Mr. Kopinski
Sent: 3 octobre 2007 10:12
To: Bridges Lafleur
Subject: RE: just a thought
Importance: High
Only available for full-timers when they come up…seniority is also factored in…but…one never knows…
From: Bridges Lafleur
Sent: October 3, 2007 10:12 AM
To: Mr. Kopinski
Subject: RE:RE: just a thought
Fine then!
From: Mr. Kopinski
Sent: 3 octobre 2007 10:13
To: Bridges Lafleur
Subject: RE:RE:RE: just a thought
Importance: High
Do I detect a bit of displeasure/attitude…?
From: Bridges Lafleur
Sent: October 3, 2007 10:14 AM
To: Mr. Kopinski
Subject: RE:RE:RE:RE: just a thought
Your detection abilities are very acute, Mr. Kopinski! Do I not count for as much as a full-time translator??? I have been working here for two years now! I produce more words translated than some of the translators who sit here 40 hours a week!!! I'm not asking for much! Winter is coming and I hate to walk in the snow in my high heels from my car to the office! I desperatly NEED a space in the underground car park!! Please don't make me feel like I am asking for you to unhook the stars for little ol' moi, with all due respect!!!
From: Mr. Kopinski
Sent: 3 october 2007 10:16
To: Bridges Lafleur
Subject: RE:RE:RE:RE:RE: just a thought
Importance: High
ALL RIGHT BRIDGES!!!! Enough with the diva act already....I'll have your parking pass ready next week. By the way, I have assigned a very important file we just received for you. Top secret. 8 000 words. Due Tuesday. Surely you can pull it off?
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 3:03 PM 0 people had something to say
Labels, love corporate memos
Monday, October 01, 2007
In praise of cold showers
(WHAT!!!!!!!!!!)
By the way, I have to tell you that I went through a complete STD testing in the last few weeks (blood test, analyse, urinary tract) and ALL (yes, that was underlined) the tests were negative.
(THANK GOD FOR THAT!!!!!!)
Next time I see you, if you decide you ever want to see me again, I will bring the original documents proving the results.
Despite everything, I don't want to see you again just for the sex, and I enjoyed the time I spent with you in bed and I think your work and your life are very interesting.
Plus, you are very funny and I had a lot of fun discussing with you.
(Thank you luv, er...spread the word?)
3h25 PM : Another phone call. Another message.
3h27 PM : Another phone call. This time from a 'private number'
3h45 PM : Another email.
I think the kids & will be going out tonight.
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 12:14 PM 1 people had something to say
Labels, love Adventures in dating, Bridges' life snippets, Letters to remember
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Lobster feast & unexpected courtship
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 4:18 PM 1 people had something to say
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Friday, September 28, 2007
Mickey & friends set up camp
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 3:29 PM 1 people had something to say
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Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Ranking update
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 2:09 PM 2 people had something to say
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Monday, September 24, 2007
The dinner party
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 9:53 AM 0 people had something to say
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Sunday, September 23, 2007
How to kiss a neighbor
Over the past few months, I got to know him better, and grew quite fond of him. I always had a thing for loveable tortured types. Last Friday, I bumped into him as I was taking out the recycling bins. We chatted a bit, and, what the hell, I invited him over to watch a movie later on, when the kids would be asleep. Bring some booze, I said, and a stupid movie. We can just get pissed and laugh at the TV. Sounds like a plan, I'll see you later then, he said.
At 9h30 he knocked on the door, with beer in one hand and School for scoundrels in the other. Perfect, I said. I'll make popcorn, you open the beer.We snuggled up on the couch, watched a bit of the movie, laughed at how bad it was, drank beer, and chatted a little. I talked about how difficult it was to meet sensitive men; he talked about how he had no idea about anything that had to do with dating. He's not ready, he said. He seemed terrified about the whole concept of being with somebody else. I wanted to hug him and to stroke his hair. I told him he should have no problem meeting someone new, he was so attractive, intelligent, and funny. (Attractive, intelligent, and funny....hum....) You know Arthur...I really want to kiss you right now. He looked at me for a few seconds, not too sure about what to answer. It's not a good idea, he said. We're neighbours. Oh, I said. Then we looked at each other for a while. Tell me again why it's not a good idea?
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 7:44 PM 0 people had something to say
Labels, love Bridges' life snippets, Candid Bridges
Friday, September 21, 2007
Defensive counter measures, part I
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 9:52 AM 0 people had something to say
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Friday, September 14, 2007
Off to Toronto
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 2:27 PM 0 people had something to say
Labels, love trips and get-aways
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Cabin fever
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 3:38 PM 3 people had something to say
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Thursday, September 06, 2007
Catching my breath
Vacation was a success, and although it was incredibly hot, we managed to live the high life for one week, and while I was spraying my kids with 50 FPS suntan lotion, I forgot to save some for me...Result? A peeling tummy due to the inexperience of wearing a bikini. Sure beats frost bite though.
What's next?
A weekend in Toronto from September 14 to the 16 along with some cruise buddies.
Oh, and a few existantial updates in the next few days.
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 3:36 PM 0 people had something to say
Labels, love Single mother rants, trips and get-aways
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Bridges & the kids off for vacation
Au revoir!
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 9:17 AM 0 people had something to say
Labels, love trips and get-aways
Monday, August 13, 2007
Vos doigts trempent dedans
Je les plains, je pense même téléphoner à cette animatrice misérable afin de lui dire à quel point son émission est plate, plate, plate. À mourir d’ennui, à se pêter la tête sur les murs, à se planter une fourchette dans la main gauche, juste pour voir si on peut encore sentir quelque chose.
Je porte la même robe de chambre depuis deux jours, et je n’ai pas pris ma douche depuis que je l’ai enfilée. Je ne fume plus, ne boit plus, ne me fait plus vomir. Je passe mes journées à dormir. En fait, si : je vomis tout de même, mais cette fois, je n’ai pas besoin de me foutre le doigt dans le fond de la gorge. Les hormones de grossesse en effervescence ont le même effet sur mon estomac qu’un index bien placé sur l’aluette. Je me force à manger, même si je n’ai pas faim. Les seules choses que je peux avaler sont maintenant des biscuits soda salés, et des cornichons Mrs. White. Je sais, c’est le truc le plus cliché qui soit. Mais d’écouter l’inconscient collectif est la seule chose qui m’empĉche d’être tout à fait seule en ce moment. J’aurais pu choisir de bouffer de la crème glacée aux fraises et du smoke-meat, mais ça fait engraisser, et puis ça se vomit très mal.
Je suis tout l’envers de qui j’étais. Avant, j’étais une enseignante aspirante-écrivaine perturbée, maintenant je suis une écrivaine engrossée perturbatrice et une enseignante expirée. Je n’ai pas travaillé depuis une semaine, lorsque que j’ai annoncé à mes patrons du cégep que j’étais enceinte.
Impudique et sous le choc, j’ai déballé tout mon sac devant mes collègues lors du dernier meeting des profs. Tout le monde me regardait comme si j’étais complètement folle. À leurs yeux, j’avais perdu la carte, l’enseignement collégial m’avait fait perdre la boule. Je leur ai tout expliqué, pourtant, sur le ton le plus égal qui soit. Aucune trace évidente de stress post-traumatique, ni de dépression pré-partum. Je leur ai raconté que j’étais enceinte d’un amant dont j’ignorais le nom. Comme les gens des départements de littérature sont friands d’histoires croustillantes, mon auditoire était suspendu à mes lèvres, et nul ne pouvait me contredire ou remettre en question la crédibilité de mon histoire. Je faisais maintenant partie de ces gens médiocres qui téléphonent aux émissions en direct afin d’étaler leurs traumatismes et leurs déboires conjugaux sur la place publique. Ma réalité devenait maintenant fiction. Ou était-ce le contraire? La ligne entre les deux devenait de plus en plus mince. Comme le caoutchouc d’un condom que je croyais à toute épreuve.
Quand j’ai dit à Lee que j’étais enceinte, il m’a regardé avec un grand sourire et est demeuré silencieux pendant au moins cinq minutes. Moi j’attendais qu’il dise quelque chose. Wow! Tu es contente? De toute évidence, lui, était ravi. Comme ça, instantanément, sans trop se poser de questions. Spontanément heureux. Tout de suite il a cru qu’il avait quelque chose à voir dans cette histoire de reproduction. Je l’ai regardé, droit dans les yeux, et je lui ai répondu : « Oui. Je suis contente.» Il a vu que quelque chose n’allait pas; remarqué mon malaise, mes yeux embués mon air stoïque, ma main droite qui se dirigeait furtivement vers mon ventre, mon regard étrangement absent dans un moment qui se voulait être un des moment les plus tendres et intimes de la vie d’un couple. Mais mon regard n’allait tout simplement pas avec l’idée fantasmée qu’il s’était fait de SA grossesse.
Puis, il s’est mis à calculer. Et à transpirer.
Je l’ai vu : c’est à peine s’il ne s’est pas mis à compter sur ses doigts, ses orteils. Je l’ai observé dénombrer les jours et les semaines qui s’étaient écoulées depuis nos derniers ébats. Inventorier les heures de temps supplémentaires qu’il s’était tapées durant les semaines précédentes, les soirs où il était rentré alors que je dormais déjà à poings et à cuisses fermées, réduisant considérablement les chances d’accouplement somnambuliques. Recenser le nombre de fois où nous avons copulé, puis, en dernier recours, évaluer les chances d’avoir peut-être éjaculé dans mon vagin inconsciemment.
Alors, monsieur le mari; selon vos calculs et si la tendance se maintient, le nombre de relations coïtales ininterrompues réelles ou estimées est minime, voire inexistant. Chances de procréer? Less than zero. J’ai vu les chiffres s’additionner et se soustraire devant ses yeux, son esprit alterner entre les faits qu’il tentait tant bien que mal de faire coller à la situation. Mais ça ne collait pas. Il a bien essayé de trouver un élément manquant, un facteur x, une donnée inconnue qui aurait tout expliqué. Un condom déchiré, un oubli sous le signe de la passion, une éjaculation précoce hyper-concentrée en spermatozoïdes ultra-puissants en pleine période d’ovulation, une fécondation du Saint-esprit (version des temps modernes). Mais rien. Rien ne laissait croire que ce que je venais de lui annoncer était réel. Parce que le seul élément qui ferait concorder ses savants calculs serait qu’il se soustraie de l’équation. Et me voir brandir le petit bâton de plastique blanc sur lequel est inscrit un petit « + » bleu mène à la véracité de mes propos. Ce bâton traîne dans mon sac à main depuis une semaines. Je le transporte avec moi, partout ou je vais, tel une baguette magique. Je le brandis au moindre doute sur ma situation. Comme si ce truc délimitait la frontière entre la fiction et la réalité. J’ai cru quelques jours que si je le jetais aux ordures, je ne serai peut-être plus enceinte, après tout. Si je fais l’autruche, telle une ado, peut-être est ce que tout ça disparaîtra? Et puis pourquoi, nom de Dieu de merde, suis-je toujours enceinte si je ne veux pas de cet enfant? Les avortements, ça existe et c’est tout simple, non? Si. Je le pense.
Quand ta fiction te rattrape, c’est que t’as pas couru assez vite.
-Euh…et tu es enceinte depuis combien de temps?
Là, son sourire commençait à s’estomper. À être aussi ambivalent et incertain que celui d’un vendeur de voitures usagées lorsqu’on lui demande la durée de la garantie. Il doit sûrement s’être trompé dans ses calculs, ça lui semble évident. Il cherche, il cherche, mais il ne trouve pas. Son visage s’est assombri, et il a commencé à frotter ses mains ensemble, nerveusement.
-Depuis 8 semaines.
-T’es sure?
-Oui. Positive. Positivement certaine, et enceinte. Regarde.
Je sors le test de grossesse de mon sac à main et lui fout sous le nez. Tant pis si ça sent la pisse. Ouf. Coup dur pour l’orgueil d’un mâle. Masculinité chancelante marquée d’un X bleu.
-Voyons voir…huit semaines, donc, deux mois…Et on faisait quoi exactement, il y a deux mois? C’était pendant le…au…au…congrès…Le congrès de quoi, déjà?
-Le colloque annuel des ingénieurs routiers. Ste-Hyacinthe. Du 21 au 24.
Merde. Son malaise me rend malade. Il est con ou quoi? Ben non, nounoune. Il est juste dans le déni. Tu vois bien qu’il tente par tous les moyens de ne PAS se rendre à l’évidence qu’il n’y est pour rien dans cette fécondation? Qu’il n’est pas le père d’un embryon installé confortablement dans l’utérus de sa femme? Que sa charmante épouse a sauté la clôture, et qu’elle s’est magistralement empêtrée dans le barbelé?
Tu ne t’en souviens plus, tu ne t’en souviens plus…moi je m’en souviens, mais laisse-moi NE PAS te rafraîchir la mémoire : pendant que mon vagin et moi nous tapions le symposium de l’épouse en chaleur délaissée et en pleine période d’ovulation au bar le plus branché en ville, tu étais en plein congrès de l’Ordre des Ingénieurs trompés du Québec. Pendant que je me baladais en mini-jupe en en talons pour chasser le mec afin de le rôtir sur tourne-broche et de me le farcir, tu discutais plans et devis avec tes petits copains. Tu argumentais sur les agrandissements, la mécanique-électricité et tout le tralala, et tout ces trucs plus assommants qu’un viaduc qui nous tombe dessus alors qu’on roule tranquillement en voiture sur l’autoroute. Sauf qu’en me regardant brandir mon petit bâton de plastique, expression perplexe imprimée dans le visage, tu te dis que le viaduc, c’est toi qu’il assome en ce moment. Et comme le patron de cet ingénieur incompétent qui a conçu les plans de ce viaduc solide comme un château de cartes, tu te dis Y’a quelqu’un en quelque part qu’y’a pas fait sa job! Et donc, en ce moment, tu te dis que merde, t’as pas fait ta job. Mais si tes calculs sont exacts et que la marge d’erreur est mince, les probabilités sont bonnes : tu n’y es pour rien. Tu n’es pas le père de cet embryon qui te fait des byes-byes par l’entremise d’une baguette de plastique. Si les statistiques parlent, ce n’est évidemment pas de ta faute si ton couple éclate. Ce sont des choses qui arrivent. Comme un viaduc qui s’effondre sur une autoroute au beau milieu de l’après-midi. Tu n’es pas le père. Le viaduc s’est effondré, et ce n’est pas de ta faute. (Je t’ai) Ta femme t’a trompé, (Je suis) elle est enceinte, et ce n’est certainement pas de ta faute, nom de Dieu de merde! Tu n’y es pour rien! (Je) Elle le porte en (mon) son sein! Dans (mon) son corps! (Mon) Son corps est la preuve de (ma) sa culpabilité! (Je ) Elle ne peut pas le réfuter, c’est de (ma) sa faute!
Eh oui, c’est ma faute. Par ma faute, par ma faute, par ma très grande faute. Mea culpa. Mea Mucho grande culpa. Tu pourras toujours dire, comme cet ingénieur qui a conçu le viaduc écroulé, que c’est parde que tes plans n’ont pas été suivis avec exactitude. Que ça ne s’est pas déroulé selon ton planning. Que si seulement le devis avait été suivi à la lettre, tout cela ne serait pas arrivé. Rien n’aurait bougé. Tout serait construit sur des bases solides, solides et ferme comme le béton. Mais lourd à porter en crisse, aussi lourd que la culpabilité que je devrais ressentir mais qui ne surgit tout simplement pas. Je ne sens rien. Comme ce confrère, tu pourras t’en laver les mains et t’en sortir plus blanc que blanc, auréole sur la tête et larmes de cocu sur les joues. Mais vous ne comprenez pas…Elle n’a pas suivi les plans À LA LETTRE! Not MY problem! Les chiffres ne mentent pas. Les lettres, si. Et les femmes aussi.
Alors il m’a quittée. Comme ça. La queue entre les pattes, les valises pleines d’incompréhensions et d’orgueil piétiné, un gros point d’interrogation au-dessus de la tête. Je devrais être catastrophée, défaite, détruite. En fait, je le suis. Je crois. Je nie, ça me semble évident. Et tous les moyens sont bons pour éviter d’y faire face. Je perds tranquillement contact avec mon corps. Je perds contact avec mes émotions. Je me perds, un tout petit peu plus à chaque jour, chaque jour que ce petit corps prends des forces. Qu’il me prend MES forces. Mon corps se transforme tranquillement en une usine de chair humaine, et moi j’attends. Je regarde mon corps se métamorphoser, je sens mes hormones fluctuer, mes états d’âme dégringoler. Et je n’agit pas. Je tripote encore nerveusement la télécommande. J’attends que quelque chose se passe.
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 4:14 PM 0 people had something to say
Labels, love Courtes nouvelles
Friday, August 10, 2007
No-brainer of the week - gotta love our government's thorough analysis
"Numerous statistical studies have led scientists to conclude that exposure to air pollution can increase the risk of lung and heart disease."
OR
"De nombreuses études statistiques ont incité les scientifiques à conclure que l’exposition à la pollution atmosphérique peut augmenter le risque de maladies respiratoires et cardiaques."
Duh. (T'es pas sérieux, toi-là, là?)
Almost as obvious as "Sticking your head under water may increase the risk of drowning"
Ne vous inquiétez point, francophones du Canada : je travaille d'arrache-pied afin de vous transmettre ces informations vitales dans votre langue, et n'ayez crainte, aucune subtilité ne vous sera épargnée :)
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 9:49 AM 0 people had something to say
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Wednesday, July 25, 2007
The exception that makes the rule
Did I mention he's from Montreal, like me? That he speaks French and English very well, like me?
That he's absolutely gorgeous?
Yep.
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 4:56 PM 0 people had something to say
Labels, love Bridges' life snippets
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Honey pots & misplaced wrinkles
-Bonjour Good morning bureau du Dr. Chose /Dr. So-and-so's office puis-je vous aider can I help you
-Yes, I would like to make an appointment with Dr. So-and-so, I -
-How far are you in your pregnancy?
-Oh, I'm not pregnant, I just need an annual PAP smear and prevention tests...you know... To see if everything is under control in the honey pot area -
- (big sigh of exasperation) We do not accept new patients unless you are 12 weeks pregnant… for follow-ups....you can call Dr. what's-her-face; she will give you an appointment. The number is......
Click.
Try again. Other call at Dr. What's-her-face, different bored overworked receptionist answers.
-Yes, I would like to make an appointment with Dr. What's-her-face for an annual check-up, I...
-Our soonest availability is in March 2009...Would you like me to put your name on the list?
-Er...I’m willing to pay…I just want to have an exam done!
-Sorry…March 2009 is the sooner we have. We might have a cancellation at some point though, but we follow our list of patients –
-How many people on the list, miss?
-Um…
-Never mind.
Click again. March 2009. Enough said.
I'm not even exaggerating. Ask any woman in need of a PAP smear in Quebec, they will all tell you the same thing: gynecologists have become a rare breed indeed. So what's a resourceful Canadian girl to do when the Quebec health care system simply doesn’t work? Well, simple. Hop in her car and drive for hours to jump the fence to Ontario, where gynecologists seem to accept your money and are therefore available for honey pot concerns that don't involve giving birth to another baby. Thank God for that.
So. Yesterday morning, I was on my way to small town Ontario, where a male gynecologist would help me achieve my goal of becoming the true health responsible woman that I am. (At least for today.) I have to say, I did not quite expect this in a gyno’s office.
The Dr.'s office is in a little bungalow, not too far from a reasonably sized regional hospital. The waiting room is furbished with nice leather couches and a big plasma screen. Big difference with public health service doctors where you have to wait on ordinary waiting room chairs. I talk to the receptionist, she tells me to have a seat, the Dr. will be right with me. I sit down and look around. A few artwork pieces representing pregnant woman are lying around. While I was waiting for the Dr. to call my name, a few glowing women with round bellies walked past, some of them alone, some of them with their partners. Anything but normal in a gynecologist's office. I stop looking around and pay attention to the plasma screen. An infomercial-type program was on; it seemed to be the only thing playing on it. On the infomercial, beautiful "older" women were talking about how good they were feeling now, and all of a sudden, video segment, before and after pictures, cue to the woman being lustily looked at in restaurants, at the office. She's happy, she's laughing, she had Botox injections and she's saying, hence the publicity slogan, that she did it "For three good reasons. Me, myself and I". I then noticed a huge cardboard sign in the back of the waiting room. Restylane...define yourself...in 10 by 4 panels...God...you couldn't avoid it...I caught myself looking in a little mirror I have in my purse. Wrinkles. All over my face. I was ghastly. All of a sudden I felt old, very old, and by the obvious looks of it, I needed to be facially depleted. It seemed so simple; an injection here, an injection there, take off years from your face, takes 15 minutes to do, who cares if it costs 350 dollars every 3 to 4 months and that it's made of BACTERIA; you can't put a price on female bliss, no? Every woman should do it, right? Injecting bacteria in your body is a good idea, right? Y’a rien là!
May I remind you that I am in a gynecologist's office, surrounded by pregnant women who are told to avoid everything but the kitchen sink (and I’m sure a soon-to-be published study will prove that indeed, the kitchen sink may cause harm to the unborn fetus) to protect the baby to come? Promoting cosmetology to women who are and will be going through the most body-deforming episode in a few months? Am I the only one who thinks these two "health" services don't quite fit together?
I snapped out of it when the smiling doctor called my name.
In the doctor's office I was quickly brought back to reality. A million things were going through my mind as I was laying on the table, feet in stirrups, trying to ignore the fact that some man I never met was scraping the inside of my cervix with a metal thingy whilst making small talk. Will I die of some new form of mutated STD? (Hypochondriac episode) Why is ovulation still so painful at 35? Why am I still irregular after giving birth twice? (PMS is brutal) Do I want to have my fallopian tube tied-up? (No way am I having another kid, shop is closed, thank you) Do I need to have my dislodged IUD removed? (Good memories. Smile to self) My labia minora was slightly torn because of an incompetent beautician a few weeks ago; still ouch. (That’ll teach me to have a Brazilian bikini wax done in some upper-class spa; go figure) Occasional unprotected sex…oops... (It happens) Oh my god, he's going to tell me how irresponsible I am with my honey pot!
Nope. Instead, he emerges from under the sheet, smiling. Everything seems normal; you will have your results in a few weeks, if anything comes up. Now, about those wrinkles on your forehead - did you know that I also offer cosmetology services - I could make those lines disappear in no time!
There's a fine line between taking care of female bits appropriately - and manipulating vulnerable women into thinking that they need to shed 350 $ to become “hot” again – I can imagine a convention of private enterprise male gynecologists, laughing it up – Listen guys! They have their legs spread out in the open and a metal stick up their &*?%; they’re bound to be attentive! We can push (pardon the pun) our new products in a very convincing manner…Sure - quite the new marketing-to-women twist, no? Pretty efficient, I have to say - your audience is quite captive - I mean - could we be more vulnerable than naked, legs wide-open and in stirrups with somebody scraping our cervix? Why don't you sell me a new car while you're at it dude - and why not - some lipo treatment, a cruise to the islands, new shoes for the kids - At this moment I would agree to whatever you're saying, I'm kinda at your mercy! And I don't like it!
I asked myself this question on the way back home.
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 3:12 PM 0 people had something to say
Labels, love Bridges' life snippets, Candid Bridges
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Meet the lieutenant
Anywho. You get the picture(s).
Last Friday I was having a few pints with my friends at Lieutenant's pump (Hence the title; give me credit for creative character naming, please) When I had my first "real" encounter with the hunkiest, most handsome man I have ever seen walking down the streets of Ottawa. (Well usually when I see him, he is seated at the bar or on the terrace, but let's not get fussy with the details, shall we?) I was having such a good time at the bar with my buddies that I didn't even have time to get nervous or shy away when he came to sit next to me. I was just giddy, and yes, sue me, very flirty. Couldn't help it. He's just so yummy.
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 3:48 PM 0 people had something to say
Labels, love Adventures in dating, Bridges' life snippets
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Scandinavian bliss
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 2:40 PM 1 people had something to say
Labels, love Bridges' life snippets, trips and get-aways
Monday, July 16, 2007
Unworn lingerie
Now it's mostly about not starving to death; when you're hungry there is no need to set up the table, you just go to the fridge and pig out until you get your fill. Every woman knows that when she gets hungry, she tends to eat whatever she can get her hands on. I don't know about you, but hey, that's what's been happening to me for the last two years. No need to set up the table. A bit sad, really.
Meanwhile, I keep filling up my closet with lovely, sexy lingerie that I know will serve its purpose in the future :). And if not, then I will just have to organize a lingerie party where the girls get to wear all that new lingerie still gathering dust in their closets. We'll just have to make up our own audience!
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 2:28 PM 0 people had something to say
Labels, love Candid Bridges
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
What am I, a volunteer call girl?
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 2:57 PM 3 people had something to say
Labels, love Bridges' life snippets, Candid Bridges
Monday, July 09, 2007
Girl in front of "Girl before a mirror", and hot dogs
I had to ditch my American friends. Their obnoxious ignorance, lack of emotion in presence of the art world's most prized treasures and innate comments like " a 5 year old child could do better" or " Why are all these people waiting in line to see this painting - it doesn't even mean anything" drove me nuts. I had to let them zoom past me while taking my time to stroll around the MOMA, stunned by the Mark Rothko's, Kandinsky's, Cézanne's & Giacometti I had only seen in books and poster shop stands until I stood face to face with her - Picasso's "Girl before a mirror".
Last year in Paris I visited the Picasso Museum, only to walk out of there disappointed. I found out that all my favorite pieces, probably his most famous, are scattered around the globe's most impressive museums, the majority of his work in New York. Well, there she was in "the flesh", after hanging around my house in a much smaller, framed poster like fashion version for many many years. I stood in front of it, speechless, teary-eyed, mouth opened, and stunned by such beauty, emotion and amazingly vivid colours. One minute, two minutes, then three. Amazing. It was so worth it to come to New-York, I thought, breathtaken.
-"Hey Bridges - we're all bored and hungry - we're going out for hot dogs - Are you coming?"
-Uh-huh. Hot-dogs.
I hate hot-dogs - all that squished-up meat left-overs mixed-up with chemicals & spices, boiled by a street corner vendor who uses the same cloudy water day after day - How can anyone think of hot-dogs in the presence of this notorious painting that to me, symbolises all the complexities and torments of a woman observed and dissected by an inquisitive and egotistical man and how she tries to reconstruct her own image of herself through his regard is beyond my comprehension. But then again, maybe it's all about the eye of the beholder. Inspired to create in a dadaist/pop-arty/Marcel Duchamp kind of way, I come up with a spur of the moment creation of my own that represents the interpretation of Bridges' American friends at the MOMA; I'll let you imagine the artwork - it's entitled "Hot-dogs : Americans bored and hungry".
Why am I the only one laughing as I walk outside the MOMA to meet up with my friends?
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 9:37 AM 2 people had something to say
Labels, love Bridges' bitchy moment, trips and get-aways
Friday, July 06, 2007
No sex in the city, take II
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 3:12 PM 0 people had something to say
Labels, love Bridges' life snippets, trips and get-aways
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Kopinski corporate memos
To: Mrs. Kopinski, president
Subject: Odd incident regarding Agatha that took place in mid-June
You always tell me that I don't keep you up to date with all the human resources mishaps that unfold in our workplace; further to your request, and since you are the boss after all, here is a recap of our little daily drama here at Kopinski translation. Monique, head of the control centre,(and queen of the trouble-maker tattle-tales, for that matter, what a whiner she is) came to me today and related an incident regarding Agatha that took place in mid-June. Apparently, she was in the habit of changing at the end of the day in her office which is shared by a colleague – Dick (male). Simone actually witnessed this occurrence because she opened the office door and witnessed Agatha standing there in her panties and about to put on her bike shorts (she bikes to work in the summer). Dick's back was towards her. Simone expressed surprise and closed the door. Later, Dick came to Simone and told her that he was very uncomfortable with what Agatha was doing, as he was a devout family man and did not want to be tainted with any air of impropriety. (I am relating the exact words here - nothing even happened for crisse's sake, he didn't even see her from what I know - He said he knew she was doing something behind his back, but he did not turn around and was not sure of it. I called Simone into my office and she confirmed the story. Any ideas to how we should handle this my luv?
Regards,
Sent: July 2, 2007 10:24 AM
To: Kopinski translation & co. office
Sent: July 2, 2007 11:03 AM
To: Kopinski Translation & co. office
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 10:00 PM 1 people had something to say
Labels, love corporate memos