Erotic Dreams About People You Know and Didn't Know You Were Attracted To...

Ok, I never, ever, ever dream about people I know. My dreams are a weird release of sorts, usually full epic movies with plots and subplots.

But every once in a while....

Last year about this time I had a very, very steamy dream about a police officer I worked with back then. I had never thought about him in THAT way, but holy moley, did I ever after that dream. I was mildly obsessed. Possibilities had been opened up, and remained open... until I learned he was married with two kids.

Cue that waa waa waa wuuuuu sound.

By the way, on a side note, he is coming to town for my manslaughter trial next week and I am going to spend the next few days trying to figure out a way to look him in the eye.

So last night I fell into an exhausted sleep. I have been working a lot lately, and feel pretty thrashed. So I settled into my microfibre sheets until 3:25 am, just as this much older and married and totally not my type co-worker took my hand as we drove off to a conference in my dream.

I was so disturbed by this dream that I did not fall back to sleep. I alternated between shuddering and laughing.

I know that when you have dreams like this it means nothing. But after having had a romantic or erotic romp with someone you actually know whilst in dreamland, you feel kind of trashy. And let's face it, since dream sex is the only little sumthin sumthin sumthin I am getting, it becomes a bit more of a focus.

Waking up with a dog in my bed....

So this morning I hauled my 39-year-old body out of my bed. But first, I rolled over and gave Bob the Dog an ear scratch. Then, I put on my fuzzy, non-sexy robe, thrust my feet into some slippers and shuffled off to make a caramel macchiato. I peed with the door to the bathroom open, made as much noise as I wanted, then went downstairs to listen to Cosmo radio online and return emails. There is a bit of a mess upstairs, but it is all mine.

Why do I want a boyfriend?

I know that without one, life gets a bit lonely. After all, Mama has needs. But seriously...do those needs outweigh the utter joy of answering to no man? I paint my walls whatever colour I want, with nobody telling me it is too "girly." I have microwave popcorn and diet coke for supper when I feel like it. I can pull on my yoga pants and a sweatshirt and pull my hair into a ponytail without someone going making that squooshy face at me, as he picks the ever-growing hole in the crotch of his sweats.

I know tomorrow I will feel differently. But today, I am basking in the absolute joy of freedom.

There is No Punishment Great Enough for Greg Gutfeld....

I became aware of this piece of excrement in the toilet bowl that is Fox News this morning...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tcJn5XlbSFk

For a more balanced perspective on the Canadian contribution in Afghanistan:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ian-welsh/news-flash-for-fox-news-c_b_177834.html

I want to be very clear - I am a pacifist of sorts. I believe that a country should use force to protect itself only. I would not want a loved one to join the armed forces, not because I do not support them, but because, as George Bush showed us, sometimes countries use the armed forces for less than righteous purposes. But I respect those with enough courage to join, and wish them safe return.

We in Canada are in the process of mourning 4 more fallen soldiers, sent in support of our NATO ally, the U.S., after the 9-11 attacks. What disgusts me is that, in expressing my disgust, I am giving this ass clown more publicity. I wrote to Fox News and demanded that it give an apology and that Gutless Gutfeld be fired (and I NEVER write letters).

This man is a pig.

Squirrel Dater wants me to post something....

Something.

Just kidding. Ok, Squirrel Dater....here is a post for you.

So I haven't had the best of weeks. I have the Weekend at Bernie's Manslaughter Prelim coming up, still haven't prepared for it, had a couple of out-of-town conflict matters in my old City...it's been busy.

So, I go to my old city, and the second day I was there, I was supposed to conduct a trial which involved at least 9 Sgts. of that City's particular Police Service. Lots of stripes in the room. We ultimately settled the matter, no small thanks to the Defence Counsel who I swear to Goddess is the Second Coming of FogHorn LegHorn....

So I leave the Courthouse to find...my effing car has been booted. Yes, a nice little device that they attach to your vehicle to ensure you pay your outstanding parking tickets. There was also a large orange sticker pasted to my vehicle that announced I was a deadbeat that had not paid her tickets....classy stuff. In fairness, I think at least 3 of those tickets were as a result of the Tricky Man using my vehicle last year. So I phoned him and made him pay my tickets in line, while I phoned the City Treasurer's office and demanded in my best lawyer voice that they get their Parking Nazis back over there to unboot my car. How embarraskin'.

In other news, Squirrel Dater also demanded that I meet up for my first online date. He is a cowboy, not that uncommon in this neck of the woods. The men are men here, and the cows are nervous.

We talked for 3 hours, and probably would have talked for longer, but we got kicked out of the restaurant so that they could close. He seemed nice, a bit nervous at first, but I think it went pretty well, and he said he would phone me tonight to see how my day at the ski hill went today.

I can honestly say that I am not over the Tricky Man completely (hey, it's only been a few weeks), but I think I can probably control those feelings.

And for those of you who are worried about the Whole Body Vibration Exercise, I now have the go-ahead from the seller to phone a $%^ing electrician to fix the damn thing. So hopefully I will be jiggling my uterus again soon.

I need a holiday....

I am very tired. Very, very tired. I have just decided this. It was about the time that I was in the doctor's office this morning and he asked me what I did for a living, and I couldn't find the word. I blinked a few times and then blurted out "Prosecutor....I am a prosecutor." Ugh.

Trouble is, I have a homicide file going to a preliminary inquiry here (like a trial, sorta...it's a Canadian thing) at the end of the month, and so there are no days off in the offing.

So, instead of jumping on my work wholeheartedly, with vigour and vim, I am procrastinating in my office right now. Squirrel Dater is down the hall, diligently working away, but she went to the Dominican for two weeks and is 10 years younger.

In these moments, I fantasize about a simpler life, one where I wouldn't have to debate whether or not I had time in the morning to shave my legs. I could be a barista at Starbucks - they get a pound of free coffee a week. But then I think about being the last line of defense between coffee and caffiene deprived yuppies, and I think maybe that wouldn't be a very restful job.

How about an artist? Well, I would starve (I am singularly untalented), and my inability to gracefully take criticism would mean I would probably garotte the first critic who called my work derivative.

How about truck driver? I mean, truck drivers don't have to talk to people. They seem like a jolly lot. But I would worry about contracting deep vein thrombosis and developing a little white pill addiction.

I thought about a fisherperson. That would be nice and quiet. But I suppose I would be expected to fillet my own fish, and I couldn't get away from batting my eyelashes and handing the fish to some big strong man and saying "Icky and would you mind..."

And I do love my job. I just wish there was more time to do it properly, for the sake of the victims and for the sake of my own peace of mind and professional reputation. And I wish I had more time to take care of myself, and to find someone to share my life with. But I guess stream of consciousness whining that takes 10 minutes out of my day doesn't help with the time management issue. So goodbye blog, and hello 250 files that I'll never get through in a million years.

Plenty of Trouble

Ok, so I am going to blame my friend, Squirrel Dater, for this one. Because another friend of ours, Officer Manic, has had some success with a certain online dating service, Squirrel Dater persuaded me to join.

Ok, so it's day one. I have to substitute something for the Whole Body Exercise Machine while it is in the shop.

So Day One is not yet done and I have accumulated 23 email messages.

While I am very appreciative, it has highlighted something for me....people cannot spell these days. Not even a little.

I know this is a bit mean, but I received the following email:

"Hay ther pretty ladie. I think we have a lot of things in comon. If you think so to pleese mesege me back."

Wow.

I am not, by any means, a rocket scientist. But I am finding that I am a tiny bit of an intellectual snob. I don't think that I could date someone who can't spell. Does that make me a bad person? Will I miss out on my soul mate because he doesn't know the difference between "their" and "they're"?

So far I have two fairly decent prospects. At this point, given my very recent break up with the Tricky Man, I am not looking for anything beyond someone with whom to flirt.

Consequences vs. Bad Luck

So, I am sad to report that, after a too-short life, the Whole Body Vibration Exercise Machine stopped working. No current runs through it. On the seller's instructions I have sent the "black box" to him to determine whether that is the problem. I can't tell you how bummed this made me feel.

Coupled with that, the Tricky Man contacted me to say that he loved me, but knew that "he couldn't make me happy." This angered me. It places the blame on me, don't you think? Lost in the statement is the fact that he wasn't trying. When you don't try to make a relationship a good one, it usually fails.

It leads me to my kvetch of the day (aside from that against malfunctioning exercise machines)...life does NOT happen to you. Not in that way.

You are speeding to work because you pushed snooze too many times. You get stopped by the police for speeding and are given a ticket. THIS IS NOT BAD LUCK. It is a consequence of your own actions.

Negative people throw up their hands at that point and say that this would be proof that their lives suck and that they have BAD LUCK. It's not. Some health conditions may be proof of "bad luck." Getting struck by lightning is usually a sign of bad luck.

I believe that if some ass clown bemoans a "consequence" as being "bad luck", you should be able to slap them upside the head. I think that should be included in the Criminal Code as a justifiable use of force.