Adventures in Singledom

Go West Young Women

2009-09-20T09:42:00.003-06:00

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

2009-08-13T06:15:00.004-06:00

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

2009-08-11T05:55:00.003-06:00

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

2009-07-18T07:28:00.004-06:00

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....

2009-07-15T06:11:00.002-06:00

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?

2009-07-14T05:37:00.008-06:00

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

2009-06-28T08:59:00.003-06:00

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

2009-06-20T08:50:00.007-06:00

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

2009-05-30T10:38:00.006-06:00

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

2009-05-27T05:10:00.002-06:00

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?

2009-05-26T05:39:00.007-06:00

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

2009-05-25T06:45:00.011-06:00

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.....

2009-05-23T12:27:00.005-06:00

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.

Twitterpated??

2009-05-20T06:13:00.006-06:00

Ok, I bit the bullet and joined Twitter yesterday. I know, I know, sooooo last month of me. But I have been busy mooning over Liquid Chocolate Eyes (who makes a pretty good cheesecake, by the way), and haven't had a chance to hop on the latest trend.

So on Twitter, I "follow" a diverse group of people: Kevin Smith, Deepak Chopra, Springsteen, etc. But what I found puzzling was that within 5 posts I had 13 people following ME. 13 random people with no connection to me who found either my 3 word profile or my 140 word posts so compelling that they want a running update on their home page.

I feel a certain pressure to entertain, which is hard to do in 140 words or less, dear readers. I much prefer this forum where I can expand on my random thoughts (I know, much to your chagrin).

I am loving Stephen Colbert's tweets, and Jon Stewart's mom's tweets are pretty funny as well: "Kim Kardashian thinks she is a mermaid." I am categorically refusing to follow Ashton Kutcher or Demi Moore, because that would be lame, right? 1 day on twitter and I am already a twitter snob.

I find myself thinking that maybe Twitter is the middle of the end of a literate and rational society. The beginning is, of course, the advent of text speak. LOL, LMAO, WTF, U R WEAR? Yesterday in court, an older judge was addressing an accused, asking them what they wanted to do about a charge - did the accused want to plead guilty or not guilty to a charge of mischief to a local business? The accused responded "well, I can't afford a lawyer because I lost my job, LOL."

Do you hear that, gentle readers? That sucking sound? God just opened the valve and started letting the air out of the earth.

Oompa Loompa Lawyers

2009-05-13T18:31:00.005-06:00

I am a Crown Prosecutor. For those of you who are ill-acquainted with Canadian law, that means that my job is to convict the guilty. Part of my job involves interacting with a species called "Male Lawyers".

My friend, Tequila and I were in law school together when we noticed something unusual about our habitat. It was mostly filled with small, aggressive, vertically challenged penis-ridden individuals. They were everywhere, it was like being surrounded by rammy little oompa loompas.

Tequila and I came up with a theory to explain why 8/10 law male law students were 5'5" and below. At least 7/10 of that group were insanely and ridiculously competitive. Our theory was that those who were picked last in dodgeball concentrated on academics and not athletics, and they ended up being the ones who had the marks to go to law school. Now there are exceptions to the rule, of course. Every once in a while I end up running across a tall, dark handsome lawyer with no trace of the proverbial short man complex. So there is no hard and fast rule.

I should say here that I am not extraordinariy tall. I am 5' 3 1/2". Not at all tall. So this essay was not aimed at promoting sizism or any other ism. And in fact, Oompa Loompa Lawyers are not necessarily short. Basically, I have refined the definition of Oompa Loompa Lawyer to include any lawyer who might have been shoved repeatedly into his locker as a kid in high school. It makes an Oompa Loompa Lawyer grow up mean. Hungry for power. Petty. Dangerous.

When dealing with an Oompa Loompa Lawyer, one should studiously avoid staring at the tops of their heads or at their ill-fitting suit or bad haircut as you speak to them. To do so, is to wave the red flag at the proverbial bull.

A colleague of mine just won a 2nd degree murder conviction against an Oompa Loompa Lawyer. This particular Oompa Loompa Lawyer is of the Ned Flanders category. He literally reeks of geek. You look at Ned Flanders Lawyer and you know he ended up in his locker a lot. Probably got pants a lot. But Ned Flanders Lawyer thinks he is very smart. In fact, he thought that he could win the acquittal of his client based on an obscure concept called nautical twilight. But in the end, twelve common sensical persons in the jury looked at what his client did and said "um, no...that's definitely murder." And they convicted a man for taking another human's life.

But Ned Flanders Lawyer couldn't take being beaten by a girl. A girl who he regards as being his intellectual inferior. And so, after my colleague beat him like a rented mule, he committed an egregious assault on our professionalism. He made disparaging remarks about her character in Court and then....he refused to shake her hand.

In our profession, we argue for a living. It's part of the reason most people hate us. But the majority of lawyers try to be objective and impartial about their client and their case. To allow emotion to creep is to undercut our ability to make rational decisions and to give useful advice to our clients.

So we argue like crazy on behalf of our clients. And then, when the dust clears, we shake hands and maybe even go for a beer.

So tonight I find myself disappointed in Ned Flanders Lawyer. No matter how many lockers we get shoved into in life, it does not excuse being a mean person.

Secret Decoder Rings

2009-05-09T05:26:00.006-06:00

Everyone who has ever dated knows this stage of a relationship. It's the no-man's land between first meeting someone groovy and exclusivity. I have been at this stage more times than I care to remember with a motley crew (no, I did not date the band) of assorted lunatics, do-it-yourself projects and relatively nice guys.

So, as some of you know, I met Liquid Chocolate Eyes (I know - it's a horrible nickname - I have to work on a new one) online. Things have been going swimingly. However, both of us are still on the online dating website, a fact which makes me go a little loco from time to time. But, in the interests of being a "cool chick" I am trying to keep my jealousy under wraps.

LCE, however, displayed a good dose of it earlier this week. The simple fact is that, on this particular site, the men outnumber the women. And, ergo, I get way more emails. One day we were both online at the same time, and he msn'ed me to say "Hey." The exchange was a weird one, and it became apparent that he might be a scooch jealous (yay! a break through). When I tried to talk to him about it, he had to sign off. Abruptly.

I sent him an email indicating that I was considering taking my profile off, that I hadn't gone on a date since the first time he kissed me, and that, if he didn't want to take his profile off, that was his business, but that I didn't think I could continue indefinitely down the path we were going if he was actively seeking out other women.

Reponse to email:

Radio silence. Almost completely.

It has never been mentioned, and LCE was VERY absent this week. And then the following text exchange yesterday (reproduced only in part to avoid boring you, sweet audience):

LCE: Hey what's up this weekend? Are you doing renos?

Me: I know where there is free beer. However, there are also parental units :( And you might have to paint a deck.

LCE: You want me to drink beer around your parents?

Me: I don't think they would care much. I am 39 years old after all. All kidding aside, you are more than welcome to pop by this weekend, however, I assume that you have the typical male parental-unit aversion. If so, they leave Sunday afternoon :)

There was a pause of about 15 minutes. I opened up the next text message, which simply read:

LCE: Can I bring my parents?

At this point, I actually did laugh out loud.

Me: My mother just said to my father "You want a banana, big boy?" Shudder.

LCE: What did your father say?

Me: He simply turned down his hearing aids and went to his happy place - Deafville.

Another pause of about 15 minutes.

LCE: So you're saying my folks can't come?

Me: Sure they can, the more the merrier. Maybe my mother can offer them a banana too.

And suddenly everything was ok.

What has become absolutely apparent to me is that I might be dating my father. My mother is, for lack of a better term, a bit of a freak. You never have to worry about what my mother is thinking, she just opens her mouth and it all comes tumbling out, a torrent of her wants, needs and desires.

My father, on the other hand, is a "doer". He has told me he loves me just a handful of times in my life. We don't have great conversations about the meaning of life. He just does "things" and I apply the Dad Decoder Ring.

For instance. He is here this weekend, helping me with my deck. He is turning 70 this year. The translation of this is: "you are my daughter, I love you, and I am proud that you bought a house all on your own. And I want you to love your house and be happy here"

He'll make sure that my oil is changed. The translation of this: "you are my daughter. I love you. I want you to be safe. I have visions of your engine seizing in the middle of a scary place. So I am going to do everything in my power to protect you."

He once drove for 17 hours straight to help me move from Vancouver to Kamloops. He was in his 60s at the time. Translation: "This city is big and scary, and I think it is eating you alive. I want you to be in a small place, because they are safer. I love you. You are my daughter."

In this day and age where we do a lot of talking about our feelings, maybe a guy that can't talk about his is ok. As long as you get the secret decoder ring and know how to translate.

LCE and I spent almost 70 hours together in 1 week. And in that week, he stroked my hair as I fell asleep. He was offended when I put the water jug onto the dispenser and didn't ask him for help. When I had a sore back, he wordlessly got up, retreived my magic bag, popped it in the microwave and brought it to me for application.

Translation?

So maybe the fact that he didn't respond to my email about my feelings is ok. He still took the time to check in, to see what I was up to, and to make me laugh.

If a man that doesn't want to grow up is called Peter Pan.....

2009-05-05T05:48:00.003-06:00

It occurred to me, as I was helping Cap'n Crunch locate his sled dog this morning on the back of my cereal box, that I might be regressing.

A little more than a year ago I was a de facto wife and mother. At 5:50 am I would likely have been putting in a load of laundry and starting lunches. When I left the Tricky Man, I left behind all but the most basic of responsibilities.

So this is a shout out to all of the women who have careers and kids and husbands, and who manage to do it all. What I remember about those years with the Tricky Man is a feeling of utter exhaustion and a simmering resentment. It didn't help that my partner was, well, useless. It seemed like the work was neverending, the appreciation sparse, and the house was just plain gross, no matter how hard I tried to keep it up.

I remember doing 14 loads of laundry one Saturday. I painstakingly folded and put away the Tricky Offsprings' underroos and grey-looking socks.

Almost immediately following the last load, I walked into the youngest Tricky Offspring's cave to find that, in looking for a favorite pair of jeans, the Offspring set off a laundry bomb. Clothes were ground into the chip-crumb covered floor by careless feet. I could no longer tell what was clean and what was dirty.

I grabbed a leash, I grabbed a dog (we had 4), and I hit the road. I don't know how far I walked. All I knew that if I stayed in the Pink House of Stress one more minute, the news story would end with "and then she turned the gun on herself."

When I walked back into the Pink House of Stress, I took a look around with fresh eyes. The dogs had shed with impunity, clearly having ignored my efforts to sweep that morning. The stove that I had scrubbed the day before was caked with a brown scorched substance that was unidentifiable. The sink was filled with dirty dishes with food still in them, despite the fact that I had unloaded the dishwasher and announced this loudly to the inhabitants of the Pink House of Stress. There was a wide debris field of kid's clothing, video games, chip bags, half-finished cans of pop and dog toys that stretched the entire main floor of the house. Alot of the debris field was left by a then-40 year old man.

I cried.

So fast forward to today. I woke up to a clean house. i woke up with only 1 shedding dog. I have sat here leisurely checking my emails, blogging and sipping my morning coffee. I will take the dog for a stroll. I would like to think that if I do settle down again and have a family, that it would be different. That my children would joyously stow their toys away after they are done with them in Ikea cupboards in their shiny and sunny playroom. That I would awake every morning with my loving and supportive husband in sheets that smelled like sunshine.

All I know is that the Pink House of Stress seems like a distant nightmare today. Thank goddess.

So far...so neurotic

2009-05-04T07:15:00.004-06:00

So I had a little bit of a moment last week. A neurotic moment. It was embarrassing. Liquid Chocolate Eyes and I were messaging back and forth and I said something along the lines of "soooo just so you know, if you are playing the field and I am playing the field, we shouldn't be sleeping together."

Which is an entirely valid point. But it was a classic case of not saying what I mean. The translation of this was "I really really like you, don't want anyone else to have you, and want you to declare right here and right now that you don't want to see anyone else ever again. My image is burned on your corneas and I have ruined you for all others."

His response: what you might expect to such gameplaying. He hadn't thought about it. He hadn't dated anyone else for awhile, hadn't slept with anyone else for a while, but thought I should do whatever was best. If that meant that I needed to go date other people, then I should do that.

So then I freaked out inside while trying to play it unutterably cool. Not to a major extent, but it did involve a fair amount of sleeplessness that night. What had precipitated this conversation was his unavailability this past weekend because he was going to visit his nieces in a place about 3 hour from here. And I was busy the next weekend because my parental units are swooping into town. I immediately thought: what if he meets someone else. I know the rational response to that is that, if he does, then he does and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it.

My grandmother had a saying about boys. You should pay attention to where their feet are. And his feet ended up being in my house after all this weekend for another 30 hours or so.

I went to the City with Squirrel Dater, came home a little less neurotic after buying the proverbial shoes and purse, and was looking forward to a Saturday night of being curled on my chaise lounge when my phone rang. LCE had decided not to go visit his nieces that night after all and wanted to come and visit me. And stayed for 30 hours.

I guess that it has been a really, really long time since I really, really liked someone. I know that sounds sad, but it seems like the last 10 years or so, I settled for guys who were nice on some levels, but that had some issues or some problems or weren't quite the right fit.

LCE fits just fine, and that is what scares the absolute bejesus out of me. When I dated Mongo, and it didn't work out, it was ok, because I realized I didn't like him all that much. When I dated my high school sweetheart again after 17 years, and it didn't work out, it was ok, because he was a sociopath. When I dated Tricky Man, and it didn't work out, it was ok, because he was fundamentally not so bright and sometimes I wanted to staple something to his forehead. And when the Elf didn't work out, I practically jumped for joy, because he was just really very weird.

So, my goal this week, is to be cool, stop being so neurotic, and trust that if things are supposed to work out, they will. To pay attention to where his feet are, just like grandma said. And to avoid sabatoging a very promising start.

I hate this part....

2009-04-29T06:17:00.005-06:00

So I have this rule that I don't have sleepovers with gentleman callers for at least 3 months after our first date. This means, if you factor this out, that Liquid Chocolate Eyes (still haven't come up with a non-sucky nickname) should expect to have a sleepover at my house sometime in July.

Which doesn't explain why our second date, which was supposed to be a coffee when he came through town, lasted 38 hours.

Yes folks, 38 hours. Coffee turned into supper, then it turned into watching Tropic Thunder, which then turned into....well, I think you can guess, and ladies don't talk about such things.

Suffice it to say that there may be some chemistry between LCE and myself. In a valiant effort to observe the 3-month rule, I blurted out that this might complicate things if I am still seeing other people and he is still seeing other people. However, in the heat of the moment, this was utterly disregarded by both of us and never mentioned again.

Sooooo....now comes the confusing part. Having had TWO sleepovers on our second date, I am unsure as to whether I can continue to accept other dates with suitors. We didn't talk about it, and it is incredibly awkward to ask these things when you have put the proverbial cart before the horse. I have an allergy to sounding like a clingy female, and asking a fellow on the second date whether or not the relationship is now an exclusive one seems a little needy.

But I DO feel needy. There is a saying that men don't think clearly before they have sex and women don't think clearly after they have sex, and I understand what that means now.

He left yesterday when I had to leave for court, and we had a hot clinch in my living room. And there was no mention of seeing each other again any time soon. He texted me last night to ask how my day went, and we texted back and forth a couple of times, but once again no mention of a third date. And I KNOW I am being neurotic, but I reserve that right, given the infringement of the 3-month rule and the resulting chaos in my little psyche.

I even went so far as to check the online dating site about 6 times since yesterday morning to see if he has signed in (he hasn't, but now it looks like I have - oops).

So while it is very exciting on one level to have a hot new romance, the uncertainty that is incumbent in this stage drives me crazy. Do we now have a standing Saturday night date because we broke the 3-month rule? Can I start writing my name and his last name together and planning the wedding. Just kidding, I know that is totally jumping the gun, but I AM a chick.

Ok, sorry it has been a while....

2009-04-26T07:41:00.007-06:00

Well, I have so much to share.

The online dating thing has been very interesting. I have met three people in person. The cowboy/rodeo clown, a psycho ex-cop, and a guy who works in the oil industry who likes conspiracy theories. But not to the extent of Mel Gibson in Conspiracy Theory. Because that would be UNattractive, and this guy is kind of attractive. Actually really attractive.

Squirrel Dater is getting mad at me for taking them all to the same restaurant, but I figure how are you supposed to weigh the people if you don't make all the variables the same? Of course, the waitresses give me extra great service because I am bringing in heaps of new business. And so far none of them have outted me.

So, the new guy is making me feel a bit twitterpated. I need a nickname for him. Is Liquid Chocolate Eyes too weird? Our date lasted from 7:00pm until 3:30 am the next morning, and all I got was a hug out of the deal. We sat at dinner until the restaurant closed and then went to my house (unprecedented thus far in the online dating experience) and watched Slumdog Millionaire (awesome show) and then watched and made fun of videos on Much Music Retro.

And then...he hugged me.

And I don't mind saying I got the tingles. He tolerated my dog, was interesting and funny for 8 hours and was totally respectful. And he has been texting me ever since. So...dare I hope that this actually might be something? I am going out for coffee today with a guy who, from his pictures, may very well be an albino, but to be honest, my heart isn't in it today, and if I hadn't promised, I would not be going. He seems a little over-invested already, and I have bad memories of the Elf beginning in this fashion.

In other news, Bob got beat up by a Canada Goose and is still struggling with Post-Traumatic Goose Disorder. He got stuck halfway under the deck chasing a cat. And he managed to make a complete ass of himself with Liquid Chocolate Eyes for about 2 of the 5 hours that Liquid Chocolate Eyes was in my residence.

Thank Goddess that is over....

2009-04-05T09:05:00.002-06:00

Well, my manslaughter prelim didn't complete - the defence is now going to call a witness that will likely sewer my entire case. Oh well - I have no control over the evidence.

So, remember in my Erotic Dreams post I posted that I had some dreams about a cop? Well that cop has since moved, but had to come back to town for this prelim. And I admit, there may have been some mildly flirty emails back and forth leading up to his appearance back here in this town. Nothing remotely dirty, just some compliments on how amazingly brilliant we both were. He is in plainclothes doing major crimes work, despite being only 32 years old. I will dub him CC Secret Squirrel. And he is MARRIED. Ergo it would be a big mistake to go down that CCSS Road. Big time!!!

So I may have started having those dreams about him again. Which made it....incredibly AWKWARD to see him again. He made a huge point of getting me to block off some evening time to prep him for his testimony (the only police officer who did this). Which of course, intensified the dreams, fantasies and the dirty thoughts, despite my best efforts otherwise.

It culminated in his appearance at my house on the second night of the prelim. He stepped in and looked yummy. For you psychology types, I will admit that he looks kind of like my father when he was young, and that my attraction to him might be some twisted Oedipal thing. But we will save that for another day.

So he comes in, Bob the Dog is his typical asshole self, and we dash off to a restaurant here in town. Things are sufficiently cozy that our waiter asked if I wanted to finish CC Secret Squirrel's mushrooms. Apparently it did not look like a business meeting, despite the fact that at no time did we touch.

So we get back to my house, where the file is. I put on some sweats. I give us each a beer. I try to stop my 92 pound dog from crawling into his lap. And we work for about an hour.

At the end, he sticks around and we talk about life in general. At this point he mentions his wife sufficiently often that I feel almost not AWKWARD. Almost.

So he drains his beer - it's 1130 at this point. He gets up, I walk him to the door and maintain a 5 foot distance while he puts on his shoes. We say goodbye.

The next day it is all business, he starts his testimony, and that night he goes out for beers with the boys while I work my ass off on a brief for the next day. The next day he comes to court bright and early with possibly the ugliest tie and shirt combo I have seen in a while. It doesn't matter. When I look at him on the stand as I am leading his evidence, I am experiencing some major electrical shocks in the region of my hooha. I think, though, that I covered it pretty darn well.

He winds up his testimony. I am out of witnesses for the morning. My chief cop, who is not nearly as yummy and has a porn stash, suggests we all go for pancakes. CC Secret Squirrel bolts towards the door and mentions he has a meeting with another prosecutor in a city about 4 hours away from here. Since he couldn't have known that his testimony would be done by that time, I have to think he made that up. But he dashes towards the door, and looks back, and in that moment it looks like he might hug me right there in the courthouse. So I step back and give him a little finger wave and wish him a safe journey.

Crisis averted right?

So I open up the local newspaper the next morning, and there is a picture of CC Secret Squirrel in red serge giving someone in another town an award. I can't express to you how improbable this is. Suffice it to say there was no logical reason for this sighting.

I don't get it. So back I go to the online dating website, looking for someone single, but like CC Secret Squirrel. I am still scratching my head over the whole situation, but know that what happened (or what didn't happened) was the right thing. Maybe, as I ease into my 40s, I am starting to back away from the bonehead choices. Maybe I am still mourning the loss, such as it was, of the Tricky Man. At any rate, spring is here, and my libido is sub par, and I am content to spend my Saturday night playing Wii with a co-worker and her 8-year-old daughter.

Damn cops.

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

2009-03-27T06:27:00.006-06:00

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....

2009-03-24T06:17:00.003-06:00

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....

2009-03-23T10:21:00.004-06:00

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....

2009-03-22T07:49:00.004-06:00

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....

2009-03-11T11:09:00.006-06:00

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

2009-03-04T19:10:00.003-06:00

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

2009-03-04T06:53:00.005-06:00

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.

Holy Crap - the Whole Body Vibration Machine might actually be working!!?!

2009-02-28T18:30:00.004-06:00

Ok, so just over a week later, my measurements have definitely changed:

Upper Arms - 12 1/4 inches (down 3/4 inch)

Bust - 46 1/2 inches (down 1/2 inch)

Waist - 34 3/4 inches (down 1/4 inch)

Hips - 45 1/2 inches (down 1/2 inch)

Thighs - 23 1/2 inches (down 1/2 inch)

So, over all loss is ....drum roll.... 2 1/2 inches in one week. And I didn't exercise during the lost days in Edmonton with the Tricky Man.

Huh.

I am sooooo glad I am not a teenager

2009-02-28T13:04:00.003-06:00

So one of the Tricky Offspring (the older of the two) is having some problems. He is sixteen and his girlfriend's parents hate him. His teenaged angst seethed through MSN messenger this morning.

He raged that he was sick of "agism" - that the adults of the world thought that all teenagers did was do drugs, have sex and get into trouble.

I pointed out that he did do drugs, he did have sex and that, for those two things, he was in trouble with his girlfriend's parents.

My advice was to suck it up, buttercup, apologize for his behavior at one of their family parties (I mean, really, who goes to their girlfriend's family function after having smoked weed??) and take his licks.

Because I am not a Jonas brother, I probably know nothing.

**These kids are probably high.

Saturday and I have to work (the death of downtime)

2009-02-28T07:09:00.005-06:00

Court robes are not flattering. Word.

Sorry to have to dash off....

2009-02-27T06:13:00.004-06:00

But I am doing a trial in Queen's Bench Court today. This is the fifth day out of a possible five days that I have been in court this week. This means all preparation happens at night, at noon and in my dreams (I hate to dream about work...why not sex instead??).

So off to work to put on the funny robes. Everyone looks ridiculous in these things, and having not received my QC yet, I am stuck in the polyester ones instead of the silk. They don't breathe.

It is official - Hell (Saskatchewan) has frozen over....

2009-02-26T08:22:00.005-06:00

The temperature this morning here ....

effing minus 40 degrees celsius....

with the windchill

minus 52 degrees celsius

Counting one's blessings

2009-02-25T21:18:00.006-06:00

There is a great song by a Canadian Artist named Jan Arden called "Good Mother" that sums up my philsophy today.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eRI8DwUa6hQ&feature=related

For the most part, I think that most people have a reason to get up in the morning. Family, kids, dogs, jobs, or simply a craving for that first cup of coffee. Something keeps us going. As Bruce Springsteen sings "people find some reason to believe."

So why is it that some people feel so shorted, so angry, so entitled? People with roofs over their heads and money in their pockets taking the greatest delight in torturing their server in a restaurant to try to mitigate their own emptiness.

I've been up and I've been down. Sometimes I have been dealt what I think is a raw deal. But, as hard as I try, I can't supress the joy I feel each morning during my walk. No matter how cold it is (this morning -29 degrees celsius with the wind), I feel alive and energized and incredibly blessed.

Sometimes in the face of my job, of what I see, it's hard to understand how people can be so cruel to each other. I feel such sadness at the price that some people pay for other people's anger. But I will not surrender to cynicism and apathy.

The path by my house last fall.

Bob the Dog gets me through....

2009-02-25T06:16:00.006-06:00

So, The Tricky Man has not phoned (or emailed or texted) since he stormed out of my back gate, and I don't expect he will. Am I sad? No, I don't think so. I have run all the system checks, and it seems like he was more trouble than he was worth.

So why did I wake up smiling? Because Bob the Dog curled up with me last night in bed and I woke up with a lick on the cheek.

Look at that face...how could anyone be sad??

Bob and I have had quite the ride. He was the world's worst puppy, demon spawn. He ate cellphones, shoes, underwear, photo albums, SUVs.... And he was not endearingly cute like Marley. He didn't like to be touched, hated to cuddle, and shat all over my house.

I shudder to think how evil he was.

We flunked out of 4 obedience schools.

I finally took my evil puppy to a ... behavioralist.

Through a lot of hard work, Bob and I have eased into detente. In this, his eighth year, he still sits in the middle of the floor and barks at me for no reason, he still ducks sometimes when I pet him and he definitely retains a LOT of personality. But I love him, and live in fear of the day that he goes over the "rainbow bridge" (barf, by the way. One of my facebook friends posted that it had been 1 year since her Sadie had gone over the Rainbow Bridge).

By the way, Bob hates the Vibrex 150, and pants, paces and barks at me while I am trying to exercise on it. Once, when I took him on a mountain trail ride, he decided he was disturbed by the idea of me on a horse, grabbed on to the back of my jeans as I attempted to mount "Salsa", and, as the horse bolted down the narrow mountain path, he held on for dear life. All three of us made it down the mountain, barely.

So, when he decides to be sweet, as he was this morning, it is more meaningful. In about 15 minutes, I will put on 16 layers of clothing, venture out in the still-dark morning, and watch him frolic in the snow for a while. While he does this, I look out at the river valley and breath in and out slowly and let peace wash over me.

Well....

2009-02-24T07:39:00.005-06:00

The test I laid out for The Tricky Man was a good one. He failed.

We were on the road for about 40 minutes when his phone rang. It was his half-brother, who lives in Edmonton. From the conversation, it was clear that he had a) told his brother that we were coming and b) that there was an expectation that we would be meeting up with the brother and sister-in-law.

This was the first trip we had had alone together in 4 years.

We had just over two days to spend together.

I spent my whole ski vacation with his family in December.

So I got mad.

Not a good start.

When we got to our hotel room, he walked in and immediately turned on the t.v..

We did have a nice nap, eventually, and then went to a good East Indian restaurant on Whyte Avenue (Origin India gets a shout out here - fabulous). But the next day I got force-marched through IKEA for 6 hours, leaving little time for me to get to Whyte Avenue shops, or the Old Strathcona Famer's Market, or do anything else that was interesting.

That night he insisted on going to the Olive Garden, ate himself into oblivion and then fell asleep with mouth gaping in our romantic hotel room at 8:30 p.m.. This meant of course my desire to see some live music at Blues on Whyte or the Urban Lounge was left unaddressed. Never mind any, ahem, romance.

TheTricky Man in a Carbo Coma:

He slept through the night until 4:00 am, when he turned on the T.V.. Grr.

The next day we had a whole bunch of Tricky Man drama, because he refused to let me drop him off somewhere for 2 1/2 hours, and instead insisted on driving me out to Hobbema. And he was ....wait for it....3 hours late to pick me up. I sat in the waiting room at the Wetaskiwin RCMP detachment for 3 hours waiting for him. His excuse - he had gone back to IKEA and had lost track of time.

He did apologize, and treated me to supper at the Keg, but, as with everything on the trip, he found fault with the Keg and spent most of the meal complaining about the noise from the kitchen.

So, I may have lost it on him as we drove through the storm to come home. He stopped in my town to drop me off, after about 2 1/2 hours of silence in the car. I offered him my spare bed in light of the time. He refused, asked for a hug goodbye, and said "See ya" and stormed off to his truck.

I spent a mostly sleepless night, tossing and turning. As much as I am happier on my own, away from him, and I know that a one-way relationship is soul-destroying, I have to admit I am scared of dying alone, of never having children, and of never having someone with whom I could share my life. And, despite my kvetching about The Tricky Man, well, he isn't COMPLETELY bad or horrible. He can be affectionate and funny and sometimes even tender. Is something better than nothing??

Sweet Dreams?!?!

2009-02-21T06:20:00.009-06:00

Well, I wish that man would get outta my head.

Probably the single biggest reason I am single today is Mr. Sex on a Stick. He has ruined me for all other fellas.

Mr. Sex on a Stick and I met the very first day of law school in 1993. It was lust, or perhaps love, at first sight. He was married. I was engaged. We settled into a sexually charged friendship. It was no surprise to anyone aside from us when we crossed the threshhold of "Bad People" a few months later.

SS was smart, funny, sexy, tender and tortured. He had married rather young for all the wrong reasons. He wasn't happy, his wife wasn't happy. It was a mess. And I made it worse. We fell deeply in love, and tortured ourselves with how wrong it was.

I broke it off with my fiance, who I had been with since I was 18. SS and his wife broke up, got back together, broke up, got back together. In amidst all this, SS's social drinking became problem drinking. I tried moving away two provinces, he tried concentrating on his marriage. None of it worked.

Over ten years SS and I were friends, then lovers, then enemies, then lovers....Every guy I dated over those years paled in comparison. The connection between SS and I was strong and passionate. We struggled with being Bad People. He struggled with his alcoholism. It was a big mess. In admidst all this, he had a child with his wife during a reconciliation, I got engaged and disengaged, lived with another fellow.

We didn't speak for quite a while. I eventually moved back to my home province after SS had a terrible tragedy and got a divorce. We hadn't spoken for about a year at this point. Turns out that by the time I got back here, he had given up on the idea of me and moved in with a woman decades younger than him who had a daughter the same age as his.

In short, we had tremendously bad timing. Or the Bad Karma that resulted from us being Bad People caught up with us.

He helped me leave The Tricky Man when things were terrible - gave me the money to do so, and asked for nothing in return. He and I have been together a couple of times since I got back, most notably after his girlfriend cheated on him, but it simply wasn't the same. After 15 years, we had managed, to paraphrase Springsteen, to take what we had and rip it apart.

We don't really talk anymore, although we are in the same field, just on opposite sides. He very carefully works the northeastern part of the province, and I keep to the northwestern side of the province. He never fails to ask my colleagues from my town how I am doing, but he refrains from contact, other than birthday and Christmas wishes.

So why am I thinking about all this. For two reasons: a) the last time I stayed at the Union Bank, where I am staying tonight with The Tricky Man, I was with SS. We had the most incredible weekend there of my life. And I guess I need to delve into whether or not what TM and I have is enough for me. b) I keep having Sweet Dreams about SS, lo these many years later. I know I am dreaming about what he "represents" rather than him as a person. But it is disconcerting, because sometimes I will have these dreams whilst sleeping next to the Tricky Man. It is disloyal as all get out.

I have almost made peace with the fact that I will not settle for less than what I had with SS. And if that means being alone, I think I am ok with that. A part of me will always be in love with the idea of SS, who was perfectly flawed, but who loved me passionately and completely despite the circumstances, the odds and the situation.

The Whole Body Vibration Machine experiment.....eeek - my current measurements

2009-02-20T19:30:00.004-06:00

Ok....the moment of truth. A couple of days late, but I am pretty sure it won't matter....

Upper Arms - 13 inches

Bust - 47 inches

Waist - 35 inches

Hips - 46 inches

Thighs - 24 inches (i.e. the same as Dita von Teese's waist...sigh)

Calves - 16 1/2 inches

So, we'll see if the Giant Vibrator works....

Speaking of Ms. von Teese, if I had to pick a look, I would pick hers.... I want to look like a woman, not a Hollywood Bobblehead....

ICK!!!!!

Day Two of Whole Body Vibration Experiment - Holy Hell I Am Sore!!!!

2009-02-20T13:32:00.003-06:00

Ok, so day two and I am sore. I decided on 4 seperate 10-minute workouts spaced at least 20-minutes apart. I did an overall body workout, a core workout, a detox workout and a stretching session on the machine yesterday. Today I started the day with two sessions, one an overall body workout, one an upper body workout with light weights. And I am feelin' it sistas.

My friend Squirrel Dater came home from the Dominican after two weeks away looking way too relaxed and tanned. So I subjected her to the machine. As I cranked it up to 15, I yelled "doesn't it feel like your uterus is going to fall out??" and she hopped off, laughing hysterically. The consensus is that anything over 14 makes you feel REALLY funny. And not necessarily in the good way that I thought it might.

So The Tricky Man and I are going away for a couple of days. I have to go to a really scary place to interview witnesses, but we are going to try to seize some time together while we are gone and stay about 50 kilometers north of the scary place. No Tricky Offspring, No Hard C Ex-Wife, no dogs.... I consider this a last ditch attempt to determine whether there is enough between us. We, in the 4 years that we have known each other, have never gone away without The Tricky Offspring. Family Vacations not involving Chevy Chase are usually fraught with kid-related issues which are (a) not hilarious and (b) usually stinky, sticky, messy or just flat-out mystifying.

We are staying at the Union Bank Inn... http://www.unionbankinn.com/ , one of my favorite little boutique motels in Canada. Another favorite is the Wedgewood Hotel in Vancouver... http://www.wedgewoodhotel.com/ . While my life is quite simple, and my needs modest, I feel absolutely gleeful when I step foot in a nice hotel room or a quality spa.

First pic is the Wedgewood. Next pic, the Union Bank.

I am hoping that the Tricky One leaves his atrocious touque at home (it makes his face look like the moon), that he actually brings clean clothes, and that he can muster up some romantic moments. So far he is super-excited about the prospect of going to an IKEA (there is no IKEA in our area), but not a lot of "can't-wait-to-gaze-lovingly-into-your-eyes-over-a-candlelit-dinner" isms.

Whole Body Vibration Machine - Some @%^ing Assembly Required

2009-02-18T21:55:00.004-06:00

It came in pieces. And it was really stinking heavy. Thankfully, my neighbour G-Meth brought it downstairs. It took me the better part of three hours to assemble.

It was broken when it arrived.

I ended up with an extra washers...are those important??? I think I have an extra 10 of them or so. It didn't seem like the absolutely terrible assembly directions called for many. Just some. Not all. I am a little afraid that the stupid thing will jiggle apart one day.

But, after having tested it out tonight, I can say it felt like it was seriously working things. So, the experiment will start tomorrow. I will take measurements, not change my eating habits over much, and will track whether this machine actually lives up to it's hype.

The best and the worst of human nature in one day....

2009-02-16T19:12:00.003-06:00

So today at the ski hill was intense, lots of beginners on the hill, and lots of injuries for our skeleton staff.

One of my calls was a little girl who had fallen in the moguls. When I arrived on scene her little friend was crouched down beside her and was wiping her tears. This little 8-year-old girl refused to leave her friend's side until I asked her to go get my patient's mom. When these two little girls met again at the patrol hut, the patient's friend bent down and looked at her friend and asked "Allie, are you ok?" So sweet.

On the flipside, the hill had hired a new maintenance person. When we were eating lunch, this guy asked me how much the hill paid me to ski patrol. I replied "nothing, I do it to help people." And this guy said "you are such a sucker. I never do anything unless it is for money." Sad thing is, he was serious.

It brought to mind this question - is our society losing the idea of public service? Are we doing enough to impress upon our kids that helping others is an important part of being a citizen of the world? What is the future of our society if our children have lost their generosity of spirit?

Hoarfrost and the re-feminization of our culture!!

2009-02-16T07:20:00.006-06:00

Hoarfrost yesterday on the hill. It looked like diamonds hanging off the trees. It was a clear, cold and sunny day here on the almost prairies. They keep telling me it is a dry cold, but when the wind comes up, does it really matter.

The Tricky Man came out yesterday, with the youngest Tricky Offspring in tow. I gave him my Valentine's Day gift (thoughtfully picked out) and a card, and he gave me...a card. D'oh. We are going to Edmonton next weekend for a weekend away, but seriously. No flowers. No candy.

He did, however, pay me back the $100 he owed me.

Yup Yup, he is a keeper.

However I am getting some significant flirt from a couple different sources - a cop (badges are a bad choice) and a criminal defence lawyer (even worse choice). All flirtations have been very innocent.

I truly believe that when women stop flirting, they die a little. I flirt with the guy who makes my coffee, the security guys at the courthouse, the gas station attendant, and in a small way, my 94 year old grandfather.

Little girls are flirts almost from birth, but society breeds it out of them. We are, in a large way, a shame-based gender. In order to survive in a man's world, we feel as though we should wear navy suits with our hair pulled back as tight as it will go.

Well, I refuse. When I started out in Vancouver, I rebelled. I wore open-toed shoes which showed off my fire-engine red toenails. I wore my hair long and flowing. I wore pink shirts to court. I can kick ass and make them eat their hearts out at the same time.

I am calling for the re-feminization of our society!!! Let this be the year that we embrace our curves, our lack of stank, our softness, and use those weapons and our intellect to kick ass! Let's go get them, tigresses.

Sometimes the best nights are the ones that you don't plan....

2009-02-15T06:59:00.008-06:00

Well, the Tricky Man didn't come out to see me - he is coming out to the ski hill where I patrol today. I didn't get upset or angry. Instead I got dressed up, grabbed my new friend, M2, and hit the pub for some quality girl time. Before I left the Tricky Man a year ago, I would have been crying and arguing with him about how important VD was. Now, my recently empowered self waits for no man. Sister Goddesses rule.

So today I am ski patroling, which is no easy task today. It is 27 degrees celsius below zero (about -17F) with a wind from the west.

It's really really hard to get motivated this morning. I pulled my sorry bones out of bed, and am tentatively sipping a homemade non-fat caramel macchiato.

It's rewarding though. And so different than my day job. Not that putting people in jail isn't damn rewarding sometimes (some people sooooo deserve it) but, because I am not the advocate of the victim, but, rather of her Majesty the Queen, I don't necessarily have the ability to help the people harmed by the bad guys.

By the way, in case you are wondering, I make my caramel macchiatoes thusly:

10 pumps sugar free vanilla syrup

1 cup of steamed milk with a head on it

1 shot espresso

caramel drizzle (sundae syrup is what I use)

Start with the sugar free vanilla, add the steamed milk. Score (drizzle pour) the espresso over the steamed milk and then finish with the caramel - I tend to make a cross-hatch design for maximum coverage :)

The Whole Body Vibration Machine experiment.....

2009-02-14T15:47:00.003-06:00

I have a small but absolutely wonderful cottage-style home. I live in a part of the world where we have winter for about 9 months of the year. So where to put a treadmill?

Now people don't tell me that I can get a fold-up treadmill. I have NO place to put it once it is folded up. So, instead, I purchased a whole body vibration machine.

It sounded kinda naughty....I must admit the thought of vibrating and oscillating made me....feel kinda...hopeful.

Will it work? Will I get results? Well, stay tuned people. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.

Is there a minimum time in which to say "Happy Valentine's Day?"

2009-02-14T14:17:00.006-06:00

Unchain my heart, you dick!!!

Ok, so I texted the Tricky Man at 9:17 a.m. this morning to say "Happy Valentine's Day". Now before you judge me needy and a loser and such, you should know that he and I had a huge fight this week, I may have acted a bit poorly, and, while we resolved the issues, it was probably incumbent on me to text him first.

I have been keeping myself busy ever since. My brother and his band hit town on their tour, and I had coffee with them for an hour. By the way, for reasons unknown to me, my brother feels the need to look like a wookie. He has seventies-bush-beard. It is really, really disgusting. I watched food, drink, spittle and other assorted things drift into the beard, never to be seen again.

Anyhoo, I went to work for about three hours, came home, tidied and looked at the clock. 2:23 p.m.. No return text. None.

Now, he works shift work, and he has his kids this weekend, and I am sure that he had to spend at least an hour scratching his butt, balls, and other assorted body parts on rising this a.m.. But the question is: where in the name of Jennifer Anniston is he???

And do I have the right, at 2:27 p.m. on Valentine's Day to get pissed because he hasn't texted me back?

I think that he is just not that into me!!!

UPDATE: He texted at 3:37 p.m. to advise he wasn't coming out tonight. I am torn between wanting to go out and flirt my arse off and sitting at home and eating the fudge I purchased. He says it's just another day...I responded that so was his birthday, and that he should expect the same extravaganza for that too. He invited me in, but the more I thought about it, the more I felt like either...flirting my arse off or sitting at home eating fudge.

Ok, it's 736 am on Valentine's Day Morning - where is my breakfast in bed with the single rose laid lovingly across my tray...?

2009-02-14T07:36:00.002-06:00

Bah. Valentine's Day simultaneouly blows and sucks. When you are sort of single, that is. When you are part of a cuddley-wuddley twosome, wrapped up in the down duvet of love, well it is fantastic.

But I am not.

I am in a highly dysfunctional non-relationship with my ex. The second run at things started in October. I haven't told my mother yet. She is going to kill me when she finds out. I know I am 39 years old, BUT she had to watch me while I was torturously living with the Tricky Man, and then had to watch how hard it was for me to leave.

He came back about 5 months ago with promises to change while on bended knee. Yep I got sucked in, even dumped the fella I was dating (ok, he was a clingy little elf, so I was going to dump him anyways) for him.

So I took him back (giant smack to the forehead) because he was in counselling and such. Guess how long the counselling lasted.

I have a great job as a prosecutor - high stress, but interesting and challenging. And I think I look pretty hot most days. And if I can get my online shopping habit cured, I think I am in a pretty good financial position. I am smart and funny, and not really needy....

And yet here I am. Hating Valentine's Day like any rational person in my position, having woken up cuddling with my dog.

Gack.