The exception that makes the rule

Ran into the lieutenant last night - sigh - we bumped into each other as we were both heading for our favorite bar stool. Rita, a fifty-something Scottish bartender-ess who seems to knows the lieutenant very well, greeted him, then me, and offered him a little taste of a new beer from a freshly hooked up keg. What's it like? I said. He had just emptied his glass; he looked around to see if anyone was looking, then streched out his arm to the beer tap and put a little in his glass for me to taste. Nice, I said, smiling. He inquired about how I was, what I had been up to, chatted a bit about the differences between Montreal & Ottawa, then kissed my Botox-free forehead. We'll meet again here, all right? he said; winked, and went back to his table where his buddies were.

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.

Honey pots & misplaced wrinkles

At least once every two years, a woman has to go through considerable hell to set up a necessary pilgrimage to the gynecologist's office. It's not the most pleasant of experiences, in more ways than one. First of all, in Quebec, gynecologists might as well be ghosts. Unfortunately for all of us here, gynecologists are one of many specialized health practitioners who are never available for consultation with their patients, unless you are a) pregnant, and even so you might be turned away; b) suffering from an illness that needs immediate attention, and even so you might be turned away; and c) a relative of said practitioner. Oh, there are a few hanging around; sure, you will find them in the yellow pages and yes, you will find a phone number where you can call their receptionists… but if you actually need to SEE one, say, for prevention purposes or general intentions of well-being, (you utopist fool) sorry dudette, but you will have to wait. This is what happened to me a few weeks ago.

-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.

Would a woman gynecologist have acted the same?

Meet the lieutenant

Every woman has been through a similar experience. You hang out in a pub, you drink up; a pint of Guinness, a G&T with lots of G, a few laughs and a sense of adventure. Then, the gorgeous man who you've been giving the eye to for the past months finally decides to follow the hints you have been sending oh-so discreetly at first, until you are as discreet as a Harley-Davidson zooming down your street at 7 in the morning. You can no longer be ignored, and there's no turning back. (I should know, it happens to me everyday. Damn bikers.)

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.

The lieutenant is one of those guys who can officially say they have been single all their lives. Behold the hardcore bachelors: early forties (the salt & pepper hair is more peppery than salty at this point) Hot bods (they have time to go to the gym, they have maids and eat out all the time) great careers (here in Ottawa it's usually in the public service or in IT), messy flats (the maid cleans but doesn't pick up stuff, she wouldn't know where to put it anyway), serial monogamists (no kids but a long list of ex-girlfriends, usually now living in a different city or country) and an maxed-out alpha male attitude to turn on any woman in her normally kooky state of mind, i.e. me, Bridges, a sucker for loveable jerks. But I'm working on it.

SO!

As I was walking back to my car on Saturday morning, trying to figure out where the hell did I park that thing, I was wondering...

Do I still respect him?

Oh yeah.

And yes, um, I would respect him again. :)

Scandinavian bliss

There's nothing that I love more than feeling like a queen. Once in a while, to relieve the pressures of my oh-so demanding life of work, writing, single-motherhood and, well, uh-hum my official role as public service Goddess (yes, the kids are gone for three weeks, but I like to play on the self-pity, for dramatic effect) I drive off to the Gatineau's on route 5, up to Chelsea, where lies the Ottawa region's best unkept relaxation secret. There lies a Scandinavian spa called Le Nordik, where you can enjoy a steam bath, a hot tub, a massage by a lovely massage therapist, a piping hot sauna, a nice glass of wine, a goat cheese salad in your bathing suit and a freezing water cascade, not necessarily in that order.

There, I spent close to 5 hours soaking up the salt water, the fresh air and the good company of my friend Selany, a beautiful redhead from Quebec city who is now my new office partner.

This morning, we were both too relaxed to care about anything that went on at the office, and liked it so much that we decided to reiterate our outing, without our bikinis this time : we will be heading out to the outdoor patios on Elgin street later on tonight, and gawk at the gorgeous bodies that walk by, taking there will be any. There might even be a chance that I bump into the lieutenant! Who's he? you might ask...well....

Maybe tomorrow.

Unworn lingerie

Going through my closet recently, I paused for a moment to take out some beautiful lingerie that has just been lying there for, well, quite some time. Not that I don't wear any "normal" lingerie on a daily basis, I'm a girly-girl; I like my matching bras & panties thank you very much, but I sometimes buy more expensive, goal-oriented ensembles, just in case. For example, After my old boyfriend left to go back to England two years ago and decided to come back again three months later, I was so excited that I must have spent close to 400 $ worth of stuff at La Senza's to "prepare" for his return. I was planning on giving him good reasons not to leave again; unfortunately, that didn't turn out too well. The passion from our awaited reunion seemed to be watered-down by his own personal existential demise, which, as some of you already know, lead to his cowardly run-off a few weeks later. Oh well, his loss, my gain, and two years later, one of my favorite lingerie pieces, a black & soft pink bustier with matching g-string & garter belt, in a 40's retro style, is still hanging on its padded hanger, tags still on. Why am I not wearing it? Good question. You see, a woman needs to have an occasion to wear proper lingerie adapted for her "special" occasion; she needs to, well at least I need to, know in advance so she can get ready for it. Which lingerie to wear, which clothes to go over it, which stockings, which shoes, how far will I have to walk in those heels, how much further before these stay-ups stockings roll down my thighs, do I look like I'm uncomfortable because that sure is how I feel, all these questions have to be pondered upon before getting it on. (I'm talking about the lingerie here) Therefore, sometimes, the occasion never arises or is very much put on hold. You buy new lingerie, for new occasions, sometimes you wear them, sometimes you don't, and sometimes you just want to leave them hanging in your closet, secretly hoping a worthy occasion will arise sometime in the future. I love lingerie. And what I love most about it is the look in your man's eyes when he catches a peak through your unbuttoned blouse, feels a garter strap through the silky fabric of your skirt when his hands slowly caresses you; his cheeky smile when he knows you did this for him. I miss that. Setting the stage. Dressing up. God, it's been such a long time since I planned these things.

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!

What am I, a volunteer call girl?

A few weeks ago, I received an email from an old, shall we say, "flame". I didn't remember who he was at first; our last conversation had taken place over five years ago - so many things had happened in my life since then - his name rang a bell - wait a minute- oh yeah - hey! How are you??? He was basically poking around, checking out how I was, or where I was for that matter, since him & I were mostly "ships in the night" throughout our brief locationship; our dates always occured in Montreal, when I had to participate in some feminist literature seminar or he had to make a presentation at some management workshop. At the time, I was completing my Master's studies in creative writing at UQAM and he was a prominent Quebec public servant, always on the go, always in a hurry. Married with children, of course. You can say it; I'm not proud of it either. But so was I at the time. Hey, don't judge : that was that. People do what they can to save their lives. At the time, it seemed like a good idea.

So. There he is today, asking about me. He's courteous, cheeky. He makes me smile again, and even calls me on my mobile after I unawarily gave him my number. "Hey, are you in Montreal sometimes, I still do business over there once in a while, perhaps we can get together at some point?" Sure, why not, I say. I don't have any bad recollections of that guy, which means maybe I did have a good time with him? It's worth keeping on the back burner, I think to myself. Then, I completely forget about him, until he sends me an email today.

Hi Bridges

I will be in Montreal during the week of July 30th, will you be around?

Hum....a Monday...could work...the kids are on vacation with their father...will go down to Montreal on Sunday, spend the day & evening with Catherine & the girls, then perhaps an evening with Mr. blast from the past and drive back to Ottawa very early in the morning on Tuesday and show up for work at 9am. Feasable. So I tell him "I could be there on Monday if you make it worth my while", thinking, you know, going out on a date, nice restaurant, expensive wine, lovers reunited and all that fun stuff a girl likes to do.

He answers back.

Great! I will be with my son, I just have to drop him off at a soccer day camp and pick him up at four, so I will be available between noon and 3h30. He would find it quite strange for you to be there during the evening, no?

Oh. Guess he's still married then. Er...so...He expects me to drive from Ottawa to Montreal, just to spend 3 and some hours with him in the afternoon after we haven't seen each other in FIVE YEARS??? Let me think about it....No. Thank you. I have better things to do. Then it hits me. That's what I used to do....memory flashes...making myself available for emotionnaly unavailable men at their convenience...Hold it! Recollections of the past slap me in the face, and no, I'm not that girl anymore. I don't even need to be aggressive or offended about it. I just anwer back :

Gee - thanks but no thanks - Something came up, and I will stay in town after all.

Sorry!!

That was easy...his reply came quickly, saying "wow-you sure are a party pooper- it's true it would be more fun to spend an evening together (duh). I will give you a call some other time, ok?

Sure. Do that. Meanwhile, and for a quite a while now, this chick has been calling the shots, and she likes it. I didn't like to be treated like a schedule fluffer then, I don't stand for it now, nor do I make other people feel that way!

Even if it means staying single for the rest of my life. :)

UPDATE : July 16, 2007

Blast from the past :

Bridges - I just read your blog - OK I get it, you will never hear from me again!

ME : Er...ok...what did you get, exactly?

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?

No sex in the city, take II

As I previously mentioned, I spent last weekend in New York City to meet up with a group of American friends I met on the cruise last April. Alas, my doubts were confirmed; my beefcake Latino friend I had so much fun dancing with on the cruise is as sexually ambivalent as I remembered he was. Is he gay? Is he straight? In this world of sexual "anything-goes", when it comes to this dude, nothing goes. Nowhere. He talks like he's straight, but behaves like he's gay; he spent the whole weekend pointing out the hunks walking down the NY streets to me, talking about any gossip he could think of, asking me if I thought so-and-so was gay, gay this, gay that- In other words, either his denial about his sexual orientation is tougher than airport security at JFK, or he knows about it and thinks nobody notices. Plus, I walked around his house in sexy pajamas all weekend, we shared a hotel room - different beds, don't get any ideas - and not that I want to blow my own horn or anything ( although I almost had to - a horny girl's last resort is her own imagination) I'm no Pamela Anderson, BUT I think I can be quite sexy, and let me tell ya - no heterosexual man close to this babe last weekend would have lasted long - especially not in closed quarters like we were - and he did not even ATTEMPT a pass. Not even a glimpse of a hint of an idea of a pass - nothing. Nada. Not that I care; wasn't too concerned in that department, but I am a bit ego-bruised, I have to say. Enough about sex already - that's not what's important here; I didn't travel all the way to the big apple to get laid (really? OK.) but to discover and admire the modern art world's most amazing pieces; now that, my friend, is worth bragging about.

Tell you all about it tomorrow.

Kopinski corporate memos

From: Mr. Kopinski, HR

Sent: July 2, 2007 10:04 AM
To: Mrs. Kopinski, president

cc: Kopinski Translation & co. office
Subject: Odd incident regarding Agatha that took place in mid-June

Dear Mrs, (Since you don't like me calling you honeybunny in our workplace communications my love)

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,

Mr. Kopinski, Human resources

From: Mr. Kopinski
Sent: July 2, 2007 10:24 AM
To: Kopinski translation & co. office

Subject: Erroneous message sent

Please do not read the message you received entitled "Odd incident" and delete it from your mailbox. It was mistakenly sent to everybody and was meant to be a private message to the president of the company and deals with private human resources matter.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Mr. Kopinski, Human resources

From: Agatha B., reviser
Sent: July 2, 2007 11:03 AM
To: Kopinski Translation & co. office

Subject: Panties in the workplace

Since this is now a public matter, I would like to set everybody straight on my supposedly flashing my panties to my colleague whilst putting on my bike shorts... please note that I usually don't wear any, therefore this incident could not have happened. What happened is Simone nosily entered my office while I was putting a skirt OVER my bike shorts to go and get a cup of coffee in the office kitchen so I could take them off in the following minutes, and that, in the office loos, behind closed door panels. Now, since it is obvious that my office colleague is officially a goody-goody easily-offended twat and that our control centre personnel are conniving snitch-bitches, I am now looking for a new office partner while I look for another "decent" job.

Gotta love those cc's email to all buttons.

Good day everyone,

Agatha B. reviser