Wednesday, February 28, 2007

An uneasy slip of the tongue

Today, at Nicastro's, my favorite deli, picking up diner for myself & the children.

Me
-I will take three meatballs, please! Oh, and do you have any rice left?

The Italian lady behind the counter
-Do I what? (with a very strong Italian accent!)

Me
-Is there any rice left?

The Italian lady behind the counter
- ???Er..

Me
(Waiting for an answer to a simple question, looking at the hesitant lady putting my three meatballs in a container)

The Italian lady behind the counter
-oh, no, no....

Another lady behind the counter, budding in
-What did you say?

Me
-RICE! Do you have any rice left that I can buy and take out!

The same lady
-OH!!! RICE! Rice...She thought you said "rats"...

Me
-Oh....kay...Thank God the answer was no....


Note to self : Why would she think of rats while serving the meatballs? And why would she think I would enquire about RATS??? Things that make you go hum....

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Christophe (II)

Les bottes enfilées, je peux maintenant me vêtir décemment. Je choisis une jupe de laine noire, évasée et un chemisier de coton blanc. Mon soutien-gorge lilas se fait discret mais est tout de même visible sous le coton blanc. C’est voulu. Je me dirige vers le salon afin de vérifier le temps qu’il fait et celui qu’il fera demain. Je lève le store de la fenêtre du salon. Il ne neige pas, du moins pas encore. Les trottoirs semblent toujours aussi glacés, par contre. Je regarde mes pieds. Se chausser ainsi ne semble pas, à première vue, une excellente idée. Surtout en plein hiver, au lendemain d’une tempête de verglas. Ce n’est pas logique. Dépourvu de sens. Mais c’est conséquent avec moi-même. Je voudrais qu’on me contrarie, que l’on me dise que ça n’avait tout simplement pas de bons sens. Mais voilà, pas de chance, je suis toute seule dans mon 5 ½ et personne ne contestera mon choix insensé. Ridicule, voyons ! Tu vas te péter solidement la gueule, te tordre une cheville, te geler les orteils, te ramasser à l’hôpital! C’est vrai. Je sais tout ça. Je prend le risque. Si j’étais une femme raisonnable, sensée et prévoyante, je laisserais les bottes à talons dans la garde-robe, et j’enfilerais mes bottines d’hiver à crampons. Mon côté pratique l’emporterait sur ma coquetterie. Mais, que voulez-vous, je suis comme ça. Je n’ai jamais été une grande fanatique de la logique, de la raison ni de la prévoyance. Coup de cœur et spontanéité ont toujours été mes mantras, et l’esprit de contradiction règne en maître chez moi. Alors, comme j’étais seule à la maison et qu’il n’y avait personne pour me dire que j’étais folle de sortir ainsi chaussée, j’ai allumé la télé et syntonisé la chaîne Météomédia, en quête d’un avis rassurant, ou tout le moins une preuve tangible de mon étourderie.

Je voulais m’assurer des prévisions météorologiques. Une blonde à la voix nasillarde, qui porte le même prénom que ma mère, usait de son charme à vulgariser pour un public néophyte le fonctionnement du système dépressionnaire. « Le Québec est sous un dôme d’air arctique. » Elle faisait un petit chapeau avec sa main droite et la plaçait au-dessus de sa main gauche, en l’agitant dans un mouvement de va et vient. « Le refroidissement éolien cinglant se fera surtout sentir près du Labrador, où les vents seront particulièrement présents. » Elle traçait énergiquement des cercles autour du Labrador sur une carte géographique, à l’aide d’un crayon magnétique. Nous, téléspectatrices, pouvions voir ces graphiques en gros plan et en couleurs sur notre écran. Le Québec était d’un beau bleu royal s’adoucissant vers le bleu vert plus au sud. « Le vent continuera de croître sur les régions du nord et soufflera de plus belle sur Montréal et les environs, de telle sorte que le refroidissement se fera plus incisif ce soir. » Elle dessinait maintenant de longs traits gras, du haut vers le bas, de sorte qu’il y avait maintenant sur l’écran quelque chose ressemblant à un tronc d’arbre coupé. « Il ne neigera pas d’ici les prochaines vingt-quatre à quarante-huit heures, mais le froid sera intense. Ne sortez pas inutilement et si vous le faites, portez un chapeau! » L’animatrice avait maintenant sorti une énorme tuque de laine rose d’on ne sait trop ou, c’est la magie de la télé, et s’en était affublée. Elle trouvait bien amusante cette façon de terminer son bulletin, les miss météo portent toutes des chapeaux, me suis-je dit, et elle nous souhaitait une bonne soirée à travers ses gloussements. Je suppose qu’elle trouvait rigolote l’idée de porter une tuque rose dans un studio télé. L’horloge numérique à l’écran indiquait 6h06, il faisait présentement moins dix-sept degrés, moins vingt-huit avec le facteur vent, et le bulletin de météo nous avait été présenté grâce à « Sinutab. Pour mieux respirer quand on ne peut plus sentir. » Et un gros nez que l’on devinait morveux apparaissait à l’écran.

Friday, February 23, 2007

Translation humour

Seen in a government job posting :

biolingual persons required

Oh! Me! Me! I only speak fairly traded languages!

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Should I stay or should I go?

The kids are leaving soon to spend a week with their dad in Montreal, thanks to the March break.

Which leaves me here, alone, single, without much responsabilities. I can't officially take a week off work, but I'm sure I could think of something to avoid going to the office for a week...hum.

I can afford it, I just don't know if I want to spend that kind of money for a week's play time....or do I?

I could really use a break though. Thing is, I don't want to go alone, to be honest! I wish I had someone to tag along...

What to do, what to do....any suggestions???

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Christophe

(...) S’aventurer en février sur les trottoirs glacés de Montréal n’est pas chose facile, surtout en talons hauts. Mais peu importe, ma décision est prise. Si j’ai à me casser la gueule, je le ferai avec style et la grâce toute féminine qui m’habite ; je braverai le verglas et le froid chaussée de talons. Je me prépare pour un rendez-vous. Je suis excitée et nerveuse à la fois, comme à chacun de nos rendez-vous depuis notre rencontre le mois dernier. Je dois rejoindre Christophe chez lui, au centre-ville de Montréal, à 19 h. Il m’emmène dîner dans un chic restaurant du quartier qu’il fréquente depuis quelque temps et qu’il veut me faire découvrir. J’ai faim, et je sais que le repas sera bon. Christophe adore la bonne bouffe, et il est plutôt snob en matière de nourriture, ce qui n’est pas sans me déplaire. J’aime bien être l’invitée et l’amante d’un homme qui a un penchant pour la qualité. Je me sens luxueuse.

Il n’est que 17 h 30, mais je déteste me préparer en toute hâte, alors je prends de l’avance. Plantée devant ma garde-robe, à demi vêtue de sous-vêtements lilas et de bas mi-cuisses, je choisis mes chaussures avant de choisir mes vêtements en tentant d’ignorer les borborygmes de mon estomac vide. J’ai dû enfiler trois paires de bottes différentes, sans même faire de maille à mes bas (ce qui est un exploit en soi) avant d’arrêter mon choix sur mes bottes noires à talons hauts, hauts à m’en donner le vertige. Mes préférées. Tout à fait élégantes, classiques, mais surtout, sexy as hell. Parfaites pour me donner une allure de vamp mystérieuse pour mon rendez-vous galant de ce soir avec Christophe. Il va me regarder marcher dans ces bottes, et il n’aura qu’une seule envie, ne faire qu’une bouchée de moi. Peu importe les vêtements que j’enfile ou la circonstance qui s’y prête, je choisis toujours ces bottes. J'ignore pourquoi je me pose la question à chaque fois, ces bottes semblent répondre à une question existentielle intérieure dont le sens m’échappe. Je les porte parfois pour écrire, j’ai l’impression d’être une autre, et ça facilite grandement mon travail. (...)

Saturday, February 17, 2007

No sex in the city, introduction

Remember last week I went to a speed dating event which turned out to be entertaining, but not quite the way I had expected it to be. Surely you recall me telling you that no, I didn't pick-up, apart from a phone call from my inquisitive daughter. Well, I will be very honest with you today, I'm coming clean. I did, in fact, pick up.

(insert pause for dramatic effect here, then, a smiling Bridges waiting for a reaction from her readers)

I picked up two women!

I did meet two wonderful women who turned out to be absolutely lovely and good fun; two intelligent, funny, beautiful scholarly women who, if I'm lucky, will turn out to become great friends. Let me tell you about it.

Last week, after our speed-dating (to answer your question, no, they didn't pick up either), we exchanged business cards and decided to keep in touch. Jill, who is originally from Australia and decided to stay here in Ottawa after completing her Phd some years ago, invited me up for drinks with her and Jackie the following Friday. Jill & Jackie are best buddies, and they work together at one of Ottawa's Universities. Of course, I accepted, and we met up at Café Paradiso, on Bank street, which is one of my favorite places in Ottawa. Great food, great live jazz, (Julie Michels from Toronto was singing - she is amazing, funny and a true diva - don't miss the chance to see her on stage, you won't be sorry - We all absolutely loved her!) marvelous cocktails and totally camp gay waiters who forget to bring you coffee with your cream with a smile. "I'm soooo sorry sweetheart! It's really busy tonight!!!" It's ok...surely he wouldn't have forgot if I had a penis hiding in my trousers, but not to worry; we're not here to pick-up, this time, we're here for girltalk, some laughs, and of course, lots of wine. And chocolate mousse cake. Or maybe that's just me....What else do girlfriends need to be happy, I ask you?

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

In short, Valentine's day.

On my way to work this morning, I had to stop half-way. Due to a severe snow storm, still going on in the middle of the afternoon, it took me 20 minutes to accomplish a distance of approximately 30 feet. So I bailed. Screw this shit. I went to have breakfast at Dainty's and got to work 1 hour late. I'd rather spend 30 minutes in a lame restaurant than in my car, raging against God-all-mighty. I was late, but managed to still be in a relatively good mood.

Today is the 4th anniversary of my divorce. To me, Valentine's day has somewhat of a bittersweet taste. To be honest, it makes me sick. I hate these little tacky decorations from the dollar store, I hate heart-shaped chocolate boxes, I hate reruns of When Harry met Sally.

Four years ago. Freedom, ah, yes; freedom, oh, Lord oh Lord, what have I done.

To be honest, I'd rather live a love story than to write about it, and I'd rather write about a broken heart than to have one.

Happy V-day lovelies; may your day be filled with maraschino cherries and red silky underwear.

Monday, February 12, 2007

Hungover?

Ssssshhh! Jesus H. Christ is it really necessary to say it this loud? You don't have to scream, I'm right here!

I remember the times, when I was young(er), where outrageous nights out implied heavy boozing, dancing, sheer crazyness and very little sleep. The following day, I would take a copious breakfast and go about my normal business, with very little day-after consequences. Ah...but those were the days. The days when my body used to cooperate a litle more!

Today, having guests over for dinner and drinking 4 bottles of wine for 3 people, on Saturday nonetheless, leaves me brutally hungover STILL on Monday morning! (or was it the little after-desert spliff? Who knows.) Now I'm groggy, I have no patience with the kids, going to and fro the sink to the dishwasher (a journey of approximately 2 feet) feels like a safari expedition, and most of all, I'm emotionally disturbed! I cry for no apparent reason...this is not good. I should have been more careful; apparently, curing hangovers starts even before you start boozing. After a little research on the net, since pointing and clicking is the only activity I can cope with today, here are the most interesting suggestions I found :

  • Real hangovers will truly vaporize using the Swedish style... When u get up (it doesn't matter if its early or not) u let someone take you to the local beauty farm (because your still drunk as hell) get yourself sweaty in the sauna for about 10-15 minutes, jump into the freezing water afterwards and look, only after half an hour you got up, your hangover is already disappeared!

Er...OK, but what if your hangover suddenly becomes a heart attack? Any cure for that?

  • Firecracker
    50/50 Tequila and Tabasco sauce in a shot glass. Clears the head like a shotgun

And to get over the hangover from the hangover cure you take....

  • On arriving home drink 2 pints of strong Tea (or Coffee) make the drink as sweet as possible, now for the tough part, eat a family sized container of Ice Cream (Tesco's Stripy Brand for best results but any Ice Cream will do the job)
    Follow this simple advice and never fear the morning after again!!

Right, right....and the fat ass that comes along with eating a tub of ice cream is cured by...

These are all bollocks...Everybody knows that the cure to hangovers is plainly....water! You're feeling like crap because you're dehydrated! DUH!!! Or, even simpler....DRINK IN MODERATION!!! YOU'RE NOT 23 ANYMORE!!!

I told you being hungover made me cranky!! Well at least my sense of humour is not completely shot. To learn a little more about hangover cures or to get ammunition to make fun of people who are hungover, go to www.rupissed.com

Cheers maties!

(now where's my Tylenol...)

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Pick-up artists at work

How did it go Bridges?
Did you meet interesting men?
Was it worth it?
Did you have fun?

First of all, let me say I had alot more fun than I thought I would. I did get to meet some nice gentlemen, (engineers - IT guys - divorced dads ) and not-so-nice ones (a dodgy postman who looked way too eager to lick the stamps) a funny 6'4 Dutch guy who made me think of Austin Power 3's Goldmember - without the rollerskates - and my least personnal favorite, the shy geek who is so sweet but not very pleasing to the eye, to say the least. I was sorry for him and felt compelled to take him out for a make-over session. Nothing against geeks, really. Just not my cup of tea.

Speed-dating is draining! You try to keep up your good side for all the people you meet, and you feel sorry for the last ones, because after a few drinks and many, many " how are you, what do you do" you just want to start answering questions by one of the following :

"well, it was my parole officer's idea to get back on the dating scene..."
"My husband insisted we try this...oh, look, there he is! HI HONEY!!!"
"Why don't I start by telling you about my childhood...It all started when..."

Nah. I didn't even need to invent one, it just invented itself.

At the beginning of an 8 minute meeting with the shy geek, my mobile rang. The call came from home. Of course, I'm a mother, I think of the worst. So I say "I'm sorry, I have to take this call." My 9 year old daughter was on the other end. "Mummy...I miss you...when are you coming back...." After reassuring her that mummy was not going to be very late, I went back to my conversation.

-I'm sorry....it was my daughter....she started doing this to me a while ago...she just wants to check if I'm going to pick up...
-Oh. (long pause) How old is your daughter?
-9. Why?
-Er.....and she wants to know if you're going to pick up?

It takes me a few seconds. Then I burst out laughing.

-She wants to check if I was going to pick up THE PHONE!!!!
-OOOOOHHHH...ok, ok....


Note to the reader : No, I didn't pick up... anything else than a phone call from my dauther :)

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Speed-dating is the new happy hour?

After a few very deceiving attempts at cyberdating, Bridges is at it again, but this time, she has the need, the need for...speed? (Isn't that a line in Top Gun?)

Obviously, I'm always anxious to put myself in potentially embarassing situations for the sake of having a story to tell my friends in Montreal about the Ottawa dating scene, and tonight will be no different. I have heard of speed-dating before, and was never quite enthusiastic about it; it gave me the impression of sex-starved people desperatly wanting to hook-up for the week-end. "Great!" I thought last week when I booked this. "Sounds like good fun!" In the state of mind I'm in at this moment in my life, it does sound like a lovely idea. Anything to keep this girl busy! Speed-dating events usually take place mid-week, so that interested parties can test their shagging compatibilities after a "normal" date taking place over the following weekend*.

But even before I can say "Hi my name is Bridges", 10 potential dating partners will sway before me in a loungy setting and tick a little box on a piece of paper to tell whoever organises this crazy event if yours truly tickles their fancy or not. All of this under the influence of unlimited drinks, cocktail dresses and low lighting. Sounds like fun doesn't it? Women stay put as men do their little seduction dances for approximately 8 minutes each. 10 single men in suits parading in front of me while martinis are flowing and music is playing? Count me in.

Tell you all about it when I get back. Meanwhile, check out their website if you want to know more about this new self-esteem torture tool : http://www.fastlife.ca/ If it's crap, I'll let you know. :)


*Note to self : make sure the candidates understand the difference between speed-dating and speed-shagging, topic for discussion

Sunday, February 04, 2007

The cyber-return of the prodigual ex-boyfriend

What do you do when, after spending one year crying and trying to get over the love of your life leaving you stranded in a house you both bought together, he calls you up one Monday afternoon to tell you "Nothing compares to you" and "I was never as happy as when I was with you?"

This ex-boyfriend is in England right now. He still owns half of the house we bought, renovated, and lived in together. He left me & my kids in it, on a whim, on a cold March morning last year, in a state of emergency to bugger off, to put it lightly. Of course, I was devastated, dumbstruck, and absolutely crushed. It took me close to a year to get over it. I made the most of it, learning to appreciate Ottawa, even though this city is hard to love. I made friends, contacts, I started off my career as a translator, establishing clients abroad, some in England, some in New-York, all the while working for a governmental Agency, here in Ottawa. I think I have strived through adversity, depression, and most of all, a profound sense of treason.

I got over it
I made it through

Like tons of people learning to cope with heartbreak
I recovered
And learned to armour my heart for this never to happen again


I have no desire to go through that again, as you can imagine. Nobody wants to relive the pain of a broken heart, especially if it's been broken by the same person, twice!

This person, this British guy that my friends and I affectionately called fuckface for a year, given the circumstances, called me up to tell me "Nobody understands me like you do" "everything is so bland without you" and all the things a broken-hearted woman longs to hear after a year of heartache. My guess is he was poking around to see if he still had a place to go....Trouble is, after one year, I've moved on, worked on myself, learned about the things that I don't want to go through again, what I am willing to do to make a relationship work...and came to the conclusion that I did everything I could to make this one work, and it didn't. Nothing I can do about it anymore, since the onus isn't on me anymore, and it hasn't been since Mr. fuckface decided to fuck-off. Period.

He sounded like he was still at the same point then when he left. What a waste of time.

Why is it that I am still troubled to hear him again?