Go West Young Women

Ahh Mae West - pure unabashed sex appeal. She shocked. She titillated. But dammit - doesn't it look like she had all sorts of fun?

Some days I don't feel female anymore - just neuter. I have a male-dominated job, wherein I am supposed to act business-like (read "neuter") and wear clothes that minimize my boobs and my hips. I am supposed to feel affronted if one of my colleagues stares at my breasts when I am speaking to him. Well, there is one in particular that totally skeezes me out when he does it, but otherwise I really don't mind all that much. Stare away boys - grew 'em myself. Actually quite proud of them, really. You should see 'em in a low cut and lacy demi bra. Very nice.

I have fantasies some days about sashaying into court in a low-cut red evening dress and addressing the court with a purr rather than with a clear and concise tone. What freedom.

Freedom. Societal norms and expectations have taken away my freedom to be sexy, to embrace my curves and to sashay anywhere. There was a woman in Ontario who was kicked out of court about 10 years ago because her skirt was 2 inches above the knee and her blouse was sheer under her suit jacket. I saw the outfit in the National Post. I didn't think "slore" when I saw it - I thought "gee that woman has some gams on her - she looks quite cute, actually. What's the big deal"?

Back when I practiced in downtown Vancouver I used to think "I am a good enough lawyer that I should be able to paint my toenails Electric Strawberry and wear open toed shoes with stilleto heels and still be taken seriously" and "I would find it empowering if I could be a woman, look like a woman and practice law". Alas, I have pushed the envelope from time to time, but in the end, my male colleagues are left to stare at the flat black front of my suit jacket for the most part. What a waste. Because nature/god (depending on your personal beliefs) gave women boobs and butts and hips. But we hide them like they are shameful secrets.

Mae West would be so disappointed in us.

A Little Westside Story

One of the annoying little aspects of my job is dealing with gangs. I understand that it is natural for disaffected youth who have few family supports to band together as a gang. I get it. But the code that is kept by these gangs is so far removed from my experience that I have a hard time working with it in my job.

People of my vintage, even the bad kids, were raised to have, if not a healthy respect for the police, then a healthy fear of them. I was a bad kid. But one of the things I had to deal with in my early days as a prosecutor was the inherent fear I felt when I saw a police man with a gun. It was instinctive and ingrained in me that they were figures of authority and power. Of course, I am way past feeling that now - I know many and count some of them as personal friends and know that they are human beings doing a job that can get pretty lousy.

But getting back to "kids these days" (I know, I know). I feel sometimes when dealing with these gang members and gang wannabes that I have stepped through the looking glass. I mean, had my friend been murdered at a party by another friend, and I witnessed it, I would have come forward to the police and told them what had happened. Because murder is wrong. But time and again, I have witnessed The Rat Syndrome. It makes no sense to me that, should you come forward and tell the truth about what happened to your friend, you will be branded as a rat and ostracized. Shouldn't the person who committed murder be ostracized??? However, people who cooperate with the authorities are pariahs and treated as traitors - their homes and vehicles are vandalized, their families at risk.

Because there is a publication ban on my current matter I can't go into detail, but I can say overall that watching people stand up for what is right in the face of this new morality inspires and humbles me. Now, more than ever, people who have the courage to say "No that is wrong and we as a community refuse to accept this any longer" should be lauded. It was easy for me to do the right thing when I was a kid, because it was clear what the right thing was. These days, it is so more complex.

Ahhhh ....Sanity Provides Welcome Relief to an Overwrought Mind

I know, I know, I have been away for a while. I had contagious pneumonia and a small personal crisis. One would think that the mandatory quarantine would have given me time to write, but I was too discombobulated to put the electronic pen to the cyber paper. I am better now!!

Well, out of all my body parts, my stomach wins the "Who is Smarter" award. My head and heart came a distant 2nd and 3rd. It turns out that Mr. Cheesecake was a Tinman. All was revealed through a little snooping and a little bluffing on my part. Pretending to know things is an old lawyer trick we use, and has come in handy from time to time in my personal life. Really, when I think about it, dating cads, rakes, bounders and lotharios has sharpened my cross-examination skills to a razor sharpness. That twisty feeling in my stomach was not the beginning stages of love. It was a warning from my gut that, while the guy may seem like a bit of a geek, he was a low-down dirty player. A skeeze.

In the end, I have been able to compare notes with another one of Cheesecake's victims - the girl in the SAME CITY AS ME who he was bamboozling (there were more girls- it was just convenient that I approach her through a mutual friend).

When caught red-handed, he did not do the stand-up thing at that point which would have been to say "hey girls, sorry you caught me". Instead he called us both "insane" for thinking we were anything at all to him. I pointed out that, amongst other things, he INTRODUCED ME TO HIS PARENTS.

Too bad I can't think of the other names attached to mushy texts that I saw on his cellphone. I might approach them too. Save them a few months of frustration and some embarrassment. I know - that would be crazy, but I feel that the sisterhood should be warned about guys like this. I wouldn't do it, I swear. I just wish I could.

That weird feeling in my gut was not insecurity. My stomach knew this guy was BAD news. My stomach is smarter than the rest of me. I vow to listen to it from now on when it comes to boys.

The Plastics Invade My Office

I work in an office where the majority of the support staff are women. The office manager is a woman. My boss is an old white fellow who can barely turn on his computer. He, therefore, has vested all power and control over the staff and the infrastructure of the office to the office manager.

The office manager is not a benevolent dictator. Consider her an older version of Regina George from Mean Girls. She rules with an iron fist, is cheap as the day is long (she goes from office to office stealing excess pens from people's offices and returns them to the supply room under the cover of night), and she tends to play favorites.

It is not to say that our office does not run efficiently, in some ways. But someone has yet to explain to me why the person who takes the outgoing mail down to the mail room cannot be the person who brings the incoming mail up to our office. The person who answers the phones also does dictation, which seems to me to be an odd choice. All in all, things sometimes just don't make sense.

But what really gets me is the abject rudeness that is allowed to occur in the office. Because we are a government organization, the support staff are unionized. Behaviors that would, in the private sector get someone canned, are allowed to bloom and fester.

There is one woman, who admittedly is more than a little annoying, who has been isolated in a completely different region of our office from the other staff. The office manager is unbelievably rude to this woman, the product of grievances past. and no one calls the office manager on the unprofessionalism she displays. You may not like a person, but if you are the boss do you have to show it? Should you show it?

The office manager has two favorites, who seem to be in charge of very limited duties compared to the rest of the staff. Despite the fact that they are less efficient, they are rewarded with extra-wide smiles and little inside jokes. The other 4 staff members are alternately ignored or berated. The old white guy at the top is oblivious.

One of the other 4 staff members is an absolute delight. She comes early, stays late, seeks out other work when she is slow and will help others out. She recently incited the wrath of one of the favorites. The atmosphere is so bad, that she was in my office crying two days in a row. And this from a woman who came back early from medical leave from major surgery without complaint. She wants to quit.

Which brings me to my question of the day? Why is it, when given absolute authority, people abuse it? Why is it that when women work together it devolves into a junior high atmosphere? Why are there adult bullies in the workplace and why is this allowed to continue in a professional atmosphere?

We really are, as a gender, our own worst enemies sometimes. You may not like someone, but really, why do you have to go out of your way to show it? And what should bosses do to ensure it doesn't happen in the first instance?

I can't play but I can coach....

There was a series of books by Regena Thomashauer wherein she set out her philosophy on life and love and female empowerment. She referred to the enlightened who followed her teaching as "Sister Goddesses." I liked the concept, although I wasn't always in agreement with her methods, which I found to be, at times, more manipulative than I liked. So I formed a loosely-knit group of my own with some like-minded friends, and we have collectively developed some philosophies. I decided, in Cheesecake's absence, to use my time productively to write down some of these rules.

I should say that our club was spawned out of desperation. I was coming off my first break up/train wreck with the Tricky Man, and most of my single close friends were involved in their own unfortunate circumstances. So far, the club's success rate has only been brought down by my own problems - all others seem to have succeeeded. I, of course, did not follow the strictures set down by the club, and have only myself to blame.

Enjoy:

Sister Goddesses

I. Feeling overwhelmed, under whelmed, depressed, underappreciated or blue? Go directly to the phone, call a Sister Goddess (S.G.) or two and convene a meeting over libations of your choice. Feel free to laugh at any point. All situations are better when they are worked out with a friend’s help over red wine or martinis.

II. Give yourself at least one sinful treat a week. This can be a long bubble bath or a night watching mind-numbingly bad television, or whatever makes you rub your feet together with pleasure or giggle with glee. If possible, aim for one sinful treat per day, even if it is a square of dark chocolate and a walk around the block.

III. Once a month say “yes” to something that you would normally turn down.

IV. Accept that you are your own fairy godmother, Cinderella, and that you have the power to make magic in your every day life.

V. Do anonymous acts of kindness as often as possible. The glow you get from being a good person is simply irresistible.

VI. Even if the Sister Goddess has entered into a stable relationship, she will engage in harmless flirting with helpless captives several times a week (the barista behind the counter at Starbucks or the waiter in a restaurant). This is to preserve the feeling of deliciousness that lights a woman from within.

VII. Thou shalt love thyself and thy body, and appreciate thy body as quite simply the coolest machine you will ever own. Dance naked, wear sexy lingerie, do something, anything to celebrate it.

VIII. An SG will maintain herself within a wholesome discipline. This may mean, depending on her comfort level, with regular trips to the esthetician, hairdresser and/or gym. When you feel good about yourself, you are more likely to expect respect.

IX. Thou shalt not use the bad feeling left over from a past relationship as a club to beat down the beginnings of a new relationship. Do yourself a huge favor – take some time off before getting into a new relationship. You should be at the point where you can happily spend time on your own (without creeping on his facebook or myspace pages or blocking your number and phoning and hanging up on his voicemail) before you move on. Do some emotional housekeeping, and sweep that dirt and that dirty man out the door.

X. On or before the third date with a Prospective Beau (PB), the SG dating the PB will produce her potential beau to at least one member of the club for approval. If the SG from whom approval is sought gives the PB a thumbs down, the SG seeking approval has two options – appeal to the club or kick the PB to the curb. Reasons for rejection must be clearly stated.

XI. The Appeals process should involve three members of the club. If three of your friends think he is a loogan, you should get rid of him as soon as possible.

XII. SGs simply do not chase boys. If he wants to talk to you he will phone you, text you or email you (out of those three, calls are the preferred method of communication). Heck, he can send you a Harry Potter Owl in a pinch. Unless he is climbing Everest or a hostage in the Middle East, he can drop you a line every day, or every other day.

XIII. Similarly SGs do not “drop in” or “drop by” to see a PB. PBs will seek us out if they want to see us. Also, they will make plans to see you if they are interested. If he talks to you all the time, but no dates are made, Houston we have a problem.

XIV. SGs will enforce a probation period before extending conjugal benefits. A certain amount of previewing the benefits is permitted, but if the preview involves the naughty bits, that equals benefits. The probation period should be the same as a probationary period to receive medical benefits at a job. Don’t give away your cookie to undeserving schlubs.

XV. If a PB is enjoying benefits from an SG, he should not be out there pursuing “other opportunities.” It is a dangerous world out there, and you probably don’t want to sleep with half the world by proxy. If he is pursuing other opportunities, the SG should give the PB back to the universe.

XVI. “Cheating” is defined as anything you wouldn’t do if your partner was present. If, after a reasonable time has passed and the PB is enjoying benefits, he still hides his cell phone and won’t take calls with you in the room, you should consider the “release” portion of the “catch and release” program.

XVII. If you have been dating for a reasonable period of time, and the PB is enjoying benefits, and the PB has not introduced you to his friends and family, you should seriously consider whether the PB is serious about you. Act accordingly.

XVIII. If, after a reasonable time has passed and you have extended benefits, he still attends weddings, work functions and other “couple” events alone, the SG should seriously consider whether he is serious about you.

XIX. A certain amount of courtesies should be extended to the SG by the PB in the courtship stage. This may include opening doors, not farting in front of you and carrying your heavy suitcase to the car. Better get them now ladies, because sometimes these are the first things to taper off.

XX. There are no words that send a rat running up the pant leg of a PB more than “we have to talk.” That being said, if serious concerns arise, a SG should be able to raise issues in a calm way and be heard with respect and compassion by the PB.

XXI. Benefits are never to be used as a weapon. Sex is the most enjoyable and free activity on the face of the earth. And yes, it is the most powerful tool we have. But holding benefits ransom to acquire goods and services causes more issues than it is worth.

XXII. The highway, so to speak, runs both ways. If you find that you are doing all of the work and/or the traveling to facilitate time together, this is a problem. Mohammed does not always have to come to the mountain.

XXIII. Be careful about accepting last minute dates. It is one thing if he spontaneously wants to see you between scheduled dates, but if he consistently phones you at the last minute, he may be simply waiting to see if anything better comes along first. A weekend date should be made by Thursday. No plans with him by Thursday means go make some other plans. If he phones, you can indicate that you would love to see him, but it will have to wait a couple of days. Girls who sit in front of the TV on a Saturday night because they gambled on a last minute request get unattractive bitter frown lines.

XXIV. Do not respond to booty calls in the courtship phase. He WON’T respect you in the morning.

XXV. Thou shalt practice “defensive dating.” If you and your PB have not had the “we’re exclusive” talk, you probably aren’t. Until the talk, go out, have some fun (remember the benefits rule, of course). If a guy wants to go steady with you, he should ask you, right?

XXVI. The SG is an independent woman, and she makes her own way in life, but she should always be wary of the “dutch” trap. A good man provides for a woman, and should have to be persuaded to allow a woman to pay while they are in the courtship phase.

XXVII. Don’t feign interest in all the things he is interested in. If you pretend to like basketball, know that two things will happen – you will either have to watch basketball for the rest of your relationship or you will have to admit that you are a big fat fraud. Either way, a most unhappy result awaits you. It is, however, ok to explore interests of the PB that the SG might find entertaining.

XXVIII. Never ever change who you are, or compromise your values or your morals to be with a man. This creates an unsustainable situation.

XXIX. Don’t ask for respect. Expect it. Maintain your dignity.

XXX. It’s okay to be nice to a PB, but cleaning his house or making him a collage on the third date is just plain weird. Be cool.

XXXI. You will survive if it doesn’t work out. Always keep in mind that while he may seem terrific, there are another hundred guys out there who will think that YOU are terrific.

XXXII. After the probationary period, a PB should not have to reminded of birthdays, Valentine’s day or Christmas. Failure to observe these rules is a rather serious offence.

XXXIII. Married men or men with girlfriends warrant special mention. The simple fact is that it is a complicated world, and sometimes things don’t work out between two people. And sometimes, one of those people may meet someone new before that relationship winds down. Stuff happens sometimes. The SG backs off and lets the married or taken PB work his life out. Hanging around and taking what you can get simply makes his relationship at home more bearable. And of course, not every guy in this situation is a good guy. There are jerks out there who cheat because they can. You should have a pretty good gut feeling about what category your PB falls into, and act accordingly.

XXXIV. Once in a stable or live-in relationship, the SG will not attempt to be a scary superwoman. This means that the SG will determine what she likes doing, chore-wise, or at least what she doesn’t hate, and feign reluctance, incompetence or even fear with respect to the rest. There is no way that a SG should be in charge of cooking, cleaning, laundry, child-rearing, home maintenance, vehicle maintenance and toilet backups. A haggard SG is an unhappy SG.

XXXV. If a PB has crossed the line to a Stable Beau (SB), and he suddenly becomes distant or withdrawn, if the SB’s answer to the SG’s obvious question is that there is nothing wrong, the SG will not continue to chase the SB around. Instead, the SG will keep herself busy with pleasurable pursuits, thereby creating a vacuum. It is up to the SB to step forward to fill the gap. Begging someone for their attention is demeaning and beneath the SG.

XXXVI. Whether he is a PB or an SB, he should always speak of the SG in glowing terms. Venting to one or two select friends is permissible. Under no circumstances should the PB or SB vent to his mother about the SG.

XXXVII. It is ok to support your man emotionally, but great consideration should be given before supporting a SB or PB financially for an extensive period of time. Only in the most extreme of circumstances should this occur. Conversely, the SG should pull her own weight.

XXXVIII. The SG and PB or SB should have lives separate and apart from each other. Each should be complete as a human being. This means, in practical terms, that it is okay and actually pretty awesome if you have your own friends, hobbies and interests, as well as ones that you can share together.

XXXIX. SGs should recognize and reward both little and big deeds done on her behalf or for her benefit by the SB or PB. A PB or SB will be forgiven for discontinuing such acts of kindness if they go unrecognized by the SG.

XL. For god’s sake, no nagging. Speak your piece, and trust that he will rise to the challenge.

XLI. Extreme caution should be used by the SG when considering breaking up with a PB or SB. If necessary, if there is some uncertainty, a SG would be well-advised to confer with a fellow SG. Decisions should not be made in the heat of anger, as these are usually regretted in the calm of the next morning.

XLII. An SG will never feign affection or an orgasm.

XLIII. It’s ok to let a man protect you. And they seem to really get off on that stuff.

XLIV. You have the right to your opinion. Your SB or PB may not agree with it, but he should respect your right to have it.

XLV. Never ever accept mistreatment from an SB or a PB. Physical or mental. If he did it once, odds are he will do it again.

XLVI. You may, at any time, refuse sex or refuse to perform certain sexual acts. If he doesn’t understand and is a douchebag about it, he doesn’t deserve you. It’s your body, and you have complete control over it.

XLVII. Speaking of bodies, a man should never, ever tell you that he thinks you should lose weight or that a girl is prettier than you. Any man who does this is a moron.

XLVIII. If you feel loneliest when you are in the same room as your PB or SB, you should seriously considering jettisoning him from the spaceship.

XLIX. If someone breaks up with you and then has a change of heart, the PB or SB should be put through the approval and courtship process again. And no benefits until the probationary period is over.

L. For goddess’ sake, be nice to your man if he is a good one. Talk him up in public and in private. Show him some support. Making him look small in public makes you look even smaller.

LI. Don’t be afraid to ask you man for help. A good man will be there when you really need him.

Could it be the weather? Or is it something more sinister?

It's been a while since my last post. I was off the grid for a while. With a boy....

Before you get too excited, you have to engage with me in a process of hyperanalysis. Because that is what I do.

So, through Schmeeharmony I met a guy who was clearly out of my league. We called him Mr. Hunk. To be perfectly honest, I wasn't too enthused about Mr. Hunk. After we went on our date, it became obvious on a couple of different levels why this might be. But, gentle reader, I don't want to put the cart before the horse.

As you may or may not know, I have been engaged in a bizarre "Go-Away-Come-Close" game with Mr. Cheesecake, who I met on a scary free dating website. I decided to accept a date with Mr. Perfect after Mr. Cheesecake failed to phone me for a date a week ago Thursday. While Mr. Cheesecake and I spent countless hours talking on the phone, texting, emailing, etc., it seemed that this never translated into a date. Granted the fact that I lost it on him a few weeks before and sent him a tres snotty email could have had something to do with his reluctance, but still....

So I accepted the date, however, on my way into the city, my erstwhile Cheesecake phoned me and made casual conversation. He then asked me, after a 45 minute general conversation, what I was up to. I told him my general plans, and he asked who they were with. Awkward pause on my part - even though I knew that Cheesecake was all over chasing other girls, I still felt oddly traitorous about what I was about to do. So I asked to "plead the fifth" (we don't actually have the fifth here in Canada but everyone knows what it is). There was a stunned silence on his part. Followed by a strangled "I should let you go" from Cheesecake and then silence. That was weird, I thought. I sent him a text apologizing for the awkwardness, and he sent me one back saying that it was alright, he was used to being alone. I snorted when I read this, and texted back that he had failed to call me for the Thursday night date probably because he was too busy juggling all of the girls. There was no response to this.

So Mr. Hunk and I decided to go to a jazz concert and a fancy restaurant for our date. When he showed up, I thought "wow, you are...cute and short." At first, he seemed relatively attentive and polite. But then...well, the weirdness began.

It was, more so than most first dates, like a job interview. He questioned me closely on family health, relationships, my attitude toward my career....I fully expected him to ask me where I saw myself in 5 years. I was starting to get more than a little miffed by this attitude. I mean, is he sooooo great that he thinks I want to interview for the position of his girlfriend. And then, I swear to goddess that he caught sight of himself in a semi-reflective surface and couldn't look away. And, to be honest, the whole time, I was comparing him to my erstwhile Cheesecake, who remains unsurpassed in the areas of comfortableness and passion.

So we ended the date, and the clod did not even walk me to my vehicle. He shook my hand and told me to "keep in touch." A job interview right to the end.

Early the next morning I received a text from Cheesecake, asking me how my date was. I told him "M'eh". I asked how his time with his family was (he had gone up to his hometown for a visit). It turns out that he was sad about me going on my date, went to the bar, downed 40 rye and coke, and then promptly got his butt beat up by two local thugs. He said his face was "pretty bad." Then he asked me if I wanted to go to a movie.

So into my car I went, and I drove the hour to his city. We went to a movie, and then he invited me back to his place. His face looked awful!!! We ended up having an impromptu nap on his couch, and I woke up in his arms. I won't tax you with the details, gentle reader. Suffice it to say that none of the magic had faded in our time apart.

I made motions to leave, after a decent interval of time. He looked puzzled as to why I would say such a silly thing. So I made arrangements for my neighbour to scoop up Bob the Dog, and I settled in for the night. For the next three days, I would get up, mention that I should go, and he would talk me out of it. We went to movies, out for supper, drove through the countryside chasing thunderstorms. It was wonderful. I thought that maybe it was turning into something special by the third day.

The second night I was there, we went to a movie called "My Sister's Keeper." It was actually his pick, although I found out later he chose it merely because he thought I would like it. It is a sad movie, and in one particular scene, the terminally ill girl and her family go to a beach together. They play a song called "Feels Like Home", which I love. But I whispered to him that I liked this version better than either the Bonnie Raitt or the Chantal Kreviazuk version. When we got back to his place, I looked it up and it is done by Edwina Hayes.

The next morning, he got up first, and I was still in bed. I woke up slightly because he was fiddling with something. All of a sudden "Feels Like Home" by Edwina Hayes filled the room, and he climbed back into bed and held me. Gentle reader, I physically felt some of my careful defences crumble. I really did.

So, you know there has to be a catch to all of this wonderfulness. The enemy in this scenario was the impending Contiki Tour (known secretly to myself as "Slorefest 2009"). He was leaving five days after our movie date.

Our fragile little new beginning was subject to an busload of debauched Aussie girls. Although I smiled and was supportive about his little trip, inside I really really really hated everything about it. I even helped him repair his favorite shirt, the one he wore on our first date, so that he could wear it on Slorefest 2009. Ugh.

My only bright spot was that he introduced me to his parents on the third day, and we went for a three-hour lunch with them. I think I made a good impression, despite the fact that I was wearing Walmart underwear due to my unexpectedly long stay, and had scary hair. I thought introducing me to his parents was likely a good sign.....

The last morning, the morning of the fifth day, we stayed in bed for three hours, talking about past relationships (for the first time) and life and assorted other things before I had to leave. No promises were exchanged, although I did tell him that I was going to miss him. He promised to keep in touch via facebook, as his cellphone didn't work there, and in typical man fashion, he hadn't thought to arrange for another one. I drove away scared stiff that he would forget all about me once he got on the Sodom and Gommorah bus.

He phoned me on his way to his departure city, which was 2 hours away, and we talked for the two hours. Then he texted me a few times from the airport. And then he was gone.

I have heard from him once since he left 4 days ago, nothing mushy, just updating me that the trip was great and that he was in Switzerland. I am trying to stay calm and focused on other things.

I don't know if this terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach is premonitory, loneliness or just my ulcer acting up. I just really hate this.

Dating Out of Your League

So I joined another website, one for which you actually have to pay. I won't give it back, but it rhymes with Schmeeefarmony. The commercials are sooo very annoying. All of those happy, perky, self-satisfied couples saying "look at us, aren't we just so perfect. La la la."

Hmmm - I think I maybe want to dial back the bitter dial just a smidge.

So, for the uninitiated, one is required to fill out a questionnaire about one's life. Then you are matched with people every day. One or the other person can initiate the contact after you have looked at their profile and their pictures.

If you initiate the contact, you send 5 pre-written questions to the person which have multiple choice answers. You pick these 5 questions out of a list of about 100. It should be noted that I invariably get pretty much the same ones from men every single time. It's usually "what do you like to do for fun" and "how passionate are you".

Then you send your five questions. Then each of you exchange a list of Must Haves and Can't Stands. And then each of you send 3 essay questions. At the end of this you can engage in open communication, having run the super duper Schmeeefarmony gauntlet. Presumably you should be able to weed out people looking at their answers. This is, of course, based on the premise that a person desperate enough to put their profile on Schmeeefarmony would be honest about, for instance, liking animals when you put in your profile that you have a big dog.

So, I have had some success in terms of some of the matches. But there is this guy in particular that has caught my eye. He is super hot, a VP of a mineral company, has traveled the world, owns a million dollar house in my old city.... We will call him Mr. Hunk.

I showed him to my wonderful, supportive mother, and she said "You might want to aim a little lower."

I talked to him for the first time yesterday on the phone, and he seemed pretty down to earth. We babbled back and forth to each other for a while. But ..... one of the things he said to me was that he really wanted a dog but was concerned about damage to his newly redone wood floors.

I looked at Destructo Dog, currently shedding out the equivalent of a Yorkshire Terrier on my couch, which has a Bob rip in it and thought....hmmm....fly in the ointment.

Online Adventures with the Opposite Sex

Well, I know it has been a while. I have been really busy at work with a couple of homicide files and a gang shooting. And my personal life has also been quite hectic, although under no circumstances would I characterize it as fruitful or satisfying. But hey, it's been busy.

Gentle readers, when last I blogged about my personal life, I told you that I was confused about the intentions of Mr. Cheesecake aka Liquid Chocolate Eyes. The mixed signals were driving me mad, especially since he was the first guy that I had actually dated in a while that I really, really liked.

I finally took the bull by the horns. I can't tell you what I did, but suffice it to say that through some skullduggery on my part, for which I will be forever ashamed, I learned that he was asking people out while he and I were "dating."

And I hit the roof. Things were said, and, in the end, I was prepared to close the book on Cheesecake.

But, through further skullduggery I learned that perhaps I was the author of my own misfortune in a small way, and that the entire thing was a giant misunderstanding.

The upshot is that Cheesecake doesn't read his emails.

I sent him an email at the beginning of May indicating that I was going to stop dating other people, and that I would like it if he did the same, although I knew I couldn't control what he did.

He apparently has 300 unread emails, and claims he did not receive this email. Based on the extrinsic facts gathered by myself, it appears that this claim is likely true.

So what he was left with was that I was on the online site at least 4 times per day (usually spying on him, because for some reason I have become "that" neurotic weird girl) and he assumed that I was on there doing what people on online dating services do, and proceeded to do the same.

Now I am upset that he would think I was "that" kind of girl. But it was a miscommunication of sorts, I suppose....

So, fast forward to today. We speak, either through emails, texts or on the phone at least several times a day (always at his initiative, not mine). However, we have not seen each other for a month. An aborted attempt took place this week, but I was in the middle of a trial and he worked this weekend. He goes to Europe in less than a month on one of those Contiki tour things (which I begrudgingly refer to in my mind as the "Slore Tour 2009"), and I have no doubt that he is going to meet people on said tour and spend all sorts of quality time with them. So, I guess I have to leave it up to the gods if this thing will work or not.

In the meantime, I decided to try to get on with things, and to try to stop obsessing over Cheesecake, who doesn't seem to be in a huge rush to ask me out. So I accepted a date with another guy about two weeks ago. I should premise this story by saying that I swear to goddess he seemed normal.

So I met him for coffee. He brought flowers, candy and a very cute English accent. So far, so good. After Cheesecake's seeming reluctance to see me again, it was refreshing to be courted. He was 7 years older, but seemed relatively cool, and at the end of the date, he asked for my phone number and email address, which I gave to him.

It was about 20 minutes after this meeting that I received the first email, testing the email address I gave him. I thought "how nice he is so eager". In the email, he waxed poetically about my virtues, both physical and mental. I thought "how nice to be appreciated."

The next day, I got the first email at 6 a.m.. When I saw it I thought "how...nice that he thought of me first thing in the morning....hmmmm" And then I opened it:

"[Killer] if I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever."

Clang, clang, clang went the alarm bells. This email was followed in fairly close succession by:

"The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite"

"[Killer] shall I compare thee to a summer's day..."

And so on. I at first tried to justify it by saying that he was older and he was English, and maybe he just thought that this was appropriate given those parameters. My friend Squirrel Dater yelled at me, saying "The English are just like us, only they have to go to the grocery store more often because their refrigerators are smaller. He is just weird."

Sadly she was right. He was weird. I was reluctant to admit it. But yeah, after an hour of civilized coffee, it was just too out there to be claiming these feelings. So, with the help of Jennifer and the women who work in the front office at work, we composed a farewell email to Mr. Clingy, advising him that we had met someone else and wishing him luck.

So, here I am - the guys that I don't want, want me. The guy in whom I am interested seems to be content to conduct some weird intellectually-based romance through various modes of communication that don't allow for me to get a little sumthin sumthin. All in all, June has been a most unsatisfactory month.

I want a do-over.

Stinky, Stinky, Stinky Bob

So, I got home from my three-day conference last night. On the way home, I thought I might have missed Bob the Dog. My neighbour, Gary, takes care of Bob (seen at the right) when I go away. Bob loves Gary's family (and not just because they feed him meat loaf), but also because they take him for walks, pet him, pay attention to him...

Bob is very narcisstic.

So I got home, and Gary came over sans Bob with a funny look on his face.

"We have a Dog Issue," he began hesistantly.

Given Bob's illustrious history with misadventure I was immediately envisioning an emergency trip to the vet. In the past, Bob had an allergic reaction to a Halls Lozenge and swelled up like a Sharpei, he was fed a whole basket of cherries by my friend's children and had some unfortunate gastrointestinal side effects, and he was once stung in the dog penis by a bee and had to be given a shot of Benadryl so that he could pee.

This is not an exhaustive list.

I asked Gary "What has he done now?"

"There was a skunk..." replied Gary. He actually looked like he was going to cry. "I tried to give him two baths with a hydrogen peroxide, baking soda and dish soap solution. He still stinks. And he kind of freaked out."

This is not surprising to me. Bob does not like to be handled or touched. Just ask the guy with the portable grooming business that I hired in Vancouver when Bob was a puppy. After Bob made his great escape, suds and all, the disgruntled groomer grimly informed me that my dog was feral.

I tried taking him to the vets to get groomed. There he could be sedated and float away on a cloud of whatever it is that they give dogs to get them stoned. The vet assistant smiled broadly when I said they may have some problems. "Don't worry about it," she said, "we have lots of experience with difficult dogs. You can pick him up at 5:00 p.m.."

My phone rang about an hour and a half later. I picked it up and it sounded like dog hell. There was a strange baying/barking/whining noise coming through the phone. I heard the voice of the vet assistant. She was yelling "Can you come get your dog? He HATES it here and he is giving us a headache."

So I sympathized with Gary. When he brought Bob over, I could smell the skunk wafting off of him in waves. Not good. I knew that Tomato juice masked the odour, and that it could be applied carefully to his face. So off I went to Walmart with Stinky in the back seat. ALL windows rolled down. In a stroke of ingenuity I bought not only a can of tomato juice, but a super soaker.

If I had to do this, I might as well a) practice my aim and b) have some fun.

We got back to the house, and to give Bob the benefit of the doubt, I tried the simple bathing method, no super soaker. That didn't work so well. Bob is very bendy for a 92-pound dog. He was able to evade me, despite being tied to the fence.

So, super soaker it was. Pump, pump, pump....success. Bob didn't know what hit him at first. And then he gave me the "you asshole" look. I untied him, because it was hardly sporting to keep him tied up while I soaked him, so around the garden we went.

It looked, with the tomato juice splashes everywhere, like a murder scene.

Bob was pissed off, I was laughing, the neighbours were probably watching....And then the gun jammed.

So, game over. I felt as though we had accomplished what we needed to. I rinsed him with a waterless shampoo and brushed him thoroughly.

We came back into the house. I put away my supplies, and .... I smelled skunk.

Much like the B.B.O. on the Seinfeld episode, Bob's skunk smell has clung to him and has now infiltrated my house and my vehicle.

I let him out later last night, and he raced out in hot pursuit of something. "Oh," I thought "A black cat that looks vaguely like a skunk. Perfect. My idiot dog has learned exactly nothing from this experience."

You see, Bob lives in the moment, and faced with the opportunity again to chase that black and white creature again with that fluffy tail, he would do it again in a doggie heartbeat. Never surrender. Never admit defeat.

Viva la Bob.

Hasta la Vista, Mr. Cheesecake

Well, gentle reader, I know for a fact that Mr. Cheesecake has attempted to make a date with another girl this weekend.

So, although this is somewhat redundant, I release him back into the world, and am resisting the urge to exact revenge, to write one of those angry emails, or to call him and have some sort of painful and tear-filled showdown.

Lesson learned - don't hand out the cookie before he has earned it. Ever. Doesn't matter how great the chemistry is, do NOT hand out your cookie.

Men suck.

What Am I to You?

Seriously, so sorry to be so neurotic, but this is driving me nuts. So, since we seem to dance around the subject, an open letter to Liquid Chocolate Eyes, since you seem to run away every time the discussion might turn to feelings.

Dear LCE,

I know that our first date was over a month ago. It was a pretty good one as dates go. You stuck around for 8 hours and didn't even try to make a move. I appreciated that. And you put up with my jealous dog pacing and whining and barking. That was definitely a plus. I thought "what a nice guy!"

Our second date was a couple of days later. You were just passing through. It was supposed to just be coffee. You ended up staying for 38 hours. I felt a bit trollopy (is that a word?), because my rule of thumb is 3 months before a sleepover. But it was so awesome and fun (and not just THAT, but the time spent out of bed) that I decided to forgive myself.

After the second date was when I tried to raise the issue of us continuing to be on the dating website that brought us together. I must admit, I royally effed up that conversation. It led you to say "I think you should do whatever you think is right." Which was not the answer I was looking for. But you have to understand, I have intimacy that is attained only at the 3 month mark on a second date, and I have no idea what the hell I am supposed to be doing.

So I saw you again. And again, it was no hit and run situation. You hung out for more than a day, and we had so much fun. Watching movies, driving in the country. I thought "ok, I should probably just relax and enjoy this and not analyze it."

Then, in an awkward moment, you and I were online on the dating website at the same time. In truth, I usually just go on there to see if you have been on there. There are very few people that are actually viable options. I am just being snoopy. You approached me on instant message, and it seemed as though you might be jealous. After conferring with Squirrel and Squirrel Dater, I decided to send you an email saying that I didn't want to date anyone else at this particular time, and that, while I couldn't control what you did, that I wasn't comfortable for long with us sleeping together while you pursued other women, if that was, in fact what you were doing.

Your response to this email? Well, you have not, to date, actually acknowledged receipt of same. Doesn't that kind of make you a dick? I think it does.

So I try to ignore the dickishness of this, because after a couple of days, you are back talking to me, although we don't see each other for a couple of weeks because of our schedules and the distance between us. The problem is that I need daily contact from the person with whom I am knocking boots, and I ain't getting it. And this is making me grumpy, although I try to play it cool with you. "Ain't no big thing, sugah."

So, since you don't seem to be in a big rush to see me again, I finally suggest that you take me to a movie. Since the movie theatre sucks in my town, that means we have to go to the one in your town. The whole way to your house I am rehearsing my speech about how I just can't do this anymore. I won't chase you. I hate that you feel the need to chase other women. This is it. No more.

And yes, I know that I may have, over lunch one day, told you that I broke up with my last boyfriend because he was too clingy (I was in the middle of a home invasion trial and wasn't thinking very clearly), but that does not excuse you actually ignoring texts and instant messages from me when I can clearly see you have time to go on the dating website.

When I get to your house (nice house, by the way), I walk in and you smile sheepishly. "I was trying to make you dinner and cheesecake, and it isn't working", you say helplessly. We manage to salvage the cheesecake and we eat that and drink wine for supper. We go to a movie. You stroke my leg in the movie, hold my hand. My resolutions go out the window, and the bargaining begins again. "Do players go to the trouble of making you supper and cheesecake from scratch? Maybe he is just a social retard, Killer...."

We go back to your place, and things are so easy between the two of us. At midnight, we pile into your truck and giggling the whole way, hit a donut drivethru. We drive around your city, talking about everything, go back to your place, fall asleep in each other's arms. I leave for work the next day, and you look disappointed when I kiss you goodbye. You text me later saying that you had a wonderful time, and that you hope we see each other soon.

In the next week and a half, you put no effort into seeing me. I know you are working, but we only live an hour from each other. But more importantly, once again you are putting little effort into talking to me, you are still active on that fricking website asking women out, and you are NOT asking me out again. I feel like I have to chase you down to talk to you at all.

So last night we text back and forth. I ask you whether you know whether any new movies are coming out this weekend, and you text back "I have no idea!". So this morning I texted you "well I was trying to hint that you should take me to one, but since you are choosing not to take the hint, I'll go with plan b - other plans :) "

Your failure to observe minimum standards is driving me nuts. And just when I think "Eff this, I am moving on", you pull one out of the fire, Mr. Cheesecake. But Mr. Cheesecake, relaxing my standards is simply driving me crazy. When we are together, I feel certain that this means something to you too. When we are apart, and it seems that I cross your mind rarely, I think that you are just playing me, and I mean very little. It's crazy making, and I keep thinking I better walk away before I get hurt.

Who are you Mr. Cheesecake, Mr. LCE??? Why can't we just talk about this? Why are boys so stupid? Gack.

Yours truly,

Killer

P.S. I miss you.

P.P.S. I think I might be messing this up by being neurotic.

Sleep Deprivation and LCE Deprivation Make Me Grumpy

When I purchased this house last year, I was struck by the serene feeling it evoked in me. Hundreds of birds were quietly chirping, the road noise was minimal, and the house felt to me as though nothing bad had ever happened to it.

So I bought it. I was on the run from the Tricky Man and needed a haven.

And the house has never disappointed me. The neighbours, on the other hand, never fail to disappoint.

I live on a corner. On the other corner are three houses in a row. Filled with people who love to PARTAY and have no issues with listening to ACDC's "TNT" 5 times in a five hour period at full volume.

I am not feeling well, but it isn't anything that penicillan won't cure (heh heh), but was looking forward to a peaceful night's sleep on a Sunday night. At 1:30 a.m. I was jolted awake by:

"RONALD YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE I FUCKING HATE YOU RONALD PUT OUT THE FIRE RONALD BRING ME A FUCKING BEER RONALD."

Both Bob the Dog and I sat bolt upright. I thought "oh goddess, Ronald just bring her that beer so I can get back to sleep." And then there were silence. Prayers answered.

Five minutes later "AND I'M T-N-T...DYNAMITE...T-N-T, I'M OUTTA SIGHT...." so loud that my walls were literally vibrating.

"Ugh" I thought, and reached for the phone. I called the non-emergency number and said "Hi, it's [Killer] again. Yeah. They're at it again. Yep, only played it once so far, but it IS Sunday night. Yep. That would be great. Thanks. Yes, they ARE assholes. Thanks. Bye."

It must have been a busy night for my police friends. It took them an hour to come. In the meantime, I was just dropping off to sleep when I heard "pop pop pop pop" followed by a scream.

Fireworks? Gun fire? Bob wasn't taking any chances, and crawled on top of me, shaking and looking for protection. Thanks, 92-pound guard dog.

Within 10 minutes 5 police vehicles descended on the neighbourhood. There were spotlights and red and blue lights everywhere. If it hadn't been a school night I would have sat on my deck and watched the show.

I couldn't tell if any arrests were made, but about an hour later, after all this activity, I heard the following exchange:

Cop: "SO YOU ARE GOING TO SHUT DOWN THE LOUD PARTY NOW, RIGHT?"

Mouth-breathing Troglodyte: "FUCK YOU. I KNOW MY RIGHTS. AND I GOTTA FIGHT FOR MY RIGHT TO PARTY." Yes friends, he DID quote the Beastie Boys.

Cop: "NO SERIOUSLY. YOU GOTTA SHUT IT DOWN, OR I'LL HAVE TO TAKE YOU GUYS TO JAIL." No really, I thought, take them. I don't mind.

Mouth-breathing Trogoldyte: "YEAH FUCK, WHATEVER."

Cop: "WELL, OK THEN." What, what, what??? That didn't sound very sincere to me. Come on!! You aren't going to believe him and leave the neighbourhood to his tender mercies, are you?

So the police left. And I guess, gentle reader, it wouldn't surprise you that they didn't shut it down. And they did play TNT a few more times. Because that is how they roll. So my mission: get them the hell out of my neighbourhood. Mark my words, I WILL ensure that they leave. My sick days were not intended to catch up on sleep lost because of inconsiderate ass clowns.

In other news, Liquid Chocolate Eyes is once again pulling a disappearing act. So I am about ready to pull the plug and put my line back in the water. How is it that one week a guy can be making you cheesecake and giving you a back rub, and the next week he barely talks to you? Weird. And you know, that is probably making me more grumpy than the assclowns across the street. Boys suck.

I find pictures of SS's girlfriend and why my friends are the best friends in the world.....

So last night my friend Tequila and I got together for a catch up dinner. We have been friends for 16 years, since pretty much the very first day of law school. Through the 16 years both of us have been to hell in back, had some amazingly wonderful things happen, and in the end we came out in very different places. Tequila has a husband, 2 kids and 2 step kids. I have...a brown hound. But no matter what the differences in our lifestyles, when we finally have a chance to catch up, it is like the time just falls away, and we are back to being relatively innocent and wild 20 somethings.

Tequila is possibly more disappointed that the love of my life and I didn't end up together than I am. For 16 years she has had the proverbial candle in the window for Sex on a Stick and I. Sadly, I think I can safely say that that ship has sailed. He took up with a girl 14 years his junior and has been living quite comfortably with her for the last 5 years.

But Tequila never fails to ask, when she and I get together, whether I have heard from him, seen him, etc.. The answers to these questions are generally "no", although I do hear from him once in a blue moon. And we did get together twice about a year and a half ago when him and his Zygote Girlfriend were having problems.

So Tequila and I looked for SS on my blackberry facebook last night. And we actually found him!! So this morning I took a better look on my home computer, and I found the Zygote girlfriend's last name. And of course I googled her and came up with her hi5 page, complete with pictures.

I immediately emailed the link to Squirrel Dater for analysis. Our opinion: we dub her Squishy Face. Childish? Completely. Mean? Absolutely. But Squirrel Dater, being a loyal friend, agreed that, while she had a nice body (who doesn't at 30??), her face was weird. Like she could compete with Sarah Jessica Parker and Kirsten Dunst in a "Nice-Body-Weird-Face" competition.

Squirrel Dater, like Tequila, is a loyal friend, a friend who I know will be in my corner, come what may. In my life, over the course of the last 25 years I have accumulated a handful of friends like these. Boys have come and gone. Jobs have started and stopped. I have moved half a country away. But I have been blessed with friends who have been a lifeline and a salvation for me. So SS may have taken up with Squishy Face, but at least I now have assurances that I am prettier and that he is likely never going to be over me. Because that is what friends do for friends - they agree that the old boyfriend's new girlfriend is a complete dog. Thank you friends.