Probably not since I just discovered I even have a sick, sick love of him after the dream I had last night. In the dream, he was on some sort of special mission -- it wasn't 24 or anything -- and he was with a wife, but he had a really hot bed scene with a younger chick (played by 24 daughter Elisha Cuthbert, strangely, though I think she's freakin' hot, dark eyebrows be damned). It ended up where the two of them had to say "goodbye" because of the wife, but Elisha didn't want to let go, yadayadayada. And there was a cruise ship (of sorts), grocery store and all these people I know crammed in a room on the ship involved. I was bummed when the alarm went off.

PS And now I have the chorus to a song I've never heard in my head. Too bad I'm not a musician anymore.

Before CA called and woke me up this morning, I was dreaming that Mother was a heroin addict, and that I took off running down the street to escape her and addictness, but some scary men on bikes started to chase me, so I ran to the neighbors, and they staged an intervention of sorts, I think.

I don't THINK I ate anything bizzare last night, so I have no idea why it was that I dreamt this morning of Third Watch -- except the only characters I recognized were Bosco and Faith -- and the episode had the crew going in to an inner city high school dance where there was thought to be drugs, so they also bring K-9s, one of which was an alligator (!) that could climb walls (!!). And the alligator was the one who eventually found the whole shit ton of white, powdery drugs stashed in the ceiling tile; he came out with it his snout. Arrests were made, and all was well with the world. Also, Bosco was going down on a domestic charge, and all the women cops took up the cause against him. Oh, and Dakota Fanning was in the dream, and she was taking an Elizabethan acting class that required her and the other students to figure out how to jump from one side of a cliff to another. No, she didn't fall in, the little scamp.

Yeah, I don't know either, man.

Here's what my favorite dream interpretation site says about alligators:
Today's activities include being night reporter and getting my earl changed over at Og's crib. I'm sure beer and merriment will follow.

because it's never pleasant to dream that one of your most beloved exes has been mowed down in a hail of gunfire because he didn't kowtow to the county's political party line.

Yeah. Lemme 'splain.

See, the county in which I live and breathe is exTREMEly political and therefore exTREMEly, and rather bizzarely, corrupt. Like, as in, people in high places know which way their employees vote; the person elected as the County Clerk is still working as an attorney full-time; and nepotism, nepotism nepotism to beat the band, among other various and sundry situations unbecoming to public office. Well, said ex was never one to tout the party line.

(Sighs dreamily)

About J: Met him at an 80s party that a couple of my respectable married friends held what, seven years ago (OMG). He was a deputy prosecuting attorney for the county, six years my senior and just incredibly brilliant and intense. And motherfucker could COOK -- I mean, like gourmet stylee. He could take leftovers that he had in his fridge for like weeks and turn them into restaurant food. He lived in the Miller section of Gary about 100 yeards from the beach, and I was crazy about him. My friends and I had these delusions that he and I would become this power boho couple, living by the beach and throwing interesting parties with our interesting friends, never mind that between the two of us, we wouldn't have cleared $50,000. Still! We would be witty and urbane! A power couple in the County of Lake, if you will.

That of course was before he dumped me after a month and I went all crazy pussy on him, back in the day when I was wont to try entirely too hard. He is also a non-exaggerated alcoholic, actually losing his law license for six months because of two DWIs within something like two months of each other. (The second one, he was driving home from the bar that was maybe 3/4 of a mile from his crib, and he flipped off the Gary P.D. Heh. That's my J.)

It's here that the dream picks up.

This morning's dream? Not quite as fun. This time, I was supposed to be covering a River Forest High School (!?!?) basketball game (!!) at Lake Central High School because the team had made it to regionals or something, but first I had my annual girl-plumbing appointment at Planned Parenthood, which was for some reason attached to a Catholic hospital. I got into the elevator, and it of course got stuck and wasn't lined up with the floor (one of my biggest fears), and then it came time for the exam. [WARNING! WARNING! TMI MOMENT ABOUT MY PRIVATES TO FOLLOW!]

This morning, I dreamt that some friends of mine and I (and honestly, I can't remember which friends they were) were in a clothing store in NYC named Lola Lempicka (she doesn't make clothes, does she?) and all the clothes were very teenlike and small. And then all of a sudden, the store owner, Warren Beatty, comes in and talks to us. Again? I don't get it.

This was bizarre: This morning, I dreamt that me, Mother and other people who I can't remember right now were living in a hotel (real similar to hotels that I seem to dream about all the time), but this time, it was more like a dorm than an actual hotel, if that makes any sense (and it shouldn't because it's a dream, and dreams aren't necessarily supposed to make sense.) So Dad walks in with his new mistress and her mom (!). He was talking to me about how this new woman was right for him, etc. etc., and I remember just not wanting to hear any of it.

Yeah, I don't know, either.

Either something's bothering me, or I peed the bed last night:

I really love the paper's photo department; remember how I was complaining about having to take a new mug for this year's fair coverage? Rather than listen to me bitch about it, they just used my old photo, which still looks like me, only thinner. Yay! That makes me happy.

So, I'm not sure what this means, but a lot of my dreams, when I remember them, have me traveling somewhere out of the country. This time? It was Russia.

The details for it are getting hazy at this point, but I blame this one on my crazy aunt, who I was on the phone with until shortly before I hit the sack last night.

Here's this morning's dream: What I remember starts out with me, Mother and Dad living in an apartment, and Mother being freaked out about what Dad was doing when he was supposed to be teaching -- not as in him having an affair, but him doing something illegal, and she goes looking for him. There were people in the parking lot of the apartment complex, and they were waiting for him, but I don't think it was for illegal purposes. So he comes home, and the next thing I remember, I'm judging a high school speech meet, and I'm in a little office crammed to the gills with teacher stuff, and I'm talking to two participants and asking them what they want to do with their lives, etc. But the participants? Are dudes I competed against waaaaaay back in the day, one of who I KNOW went on to Northwestern and got married relatively young.

?

Ok, the one guy? Needs to get over here NOW. Why? Because now I'm having overtly sexual dreams about another friend of ours, who shall remain nameless because even though I find him incredibly hot (and you KNOW who I'm talking about, Kaffy and Tara, if she's back from Fla., but no, it is NOT Mr. Zakula), I shan't embarass his good name. And this ain't the first time it's happened, either, me dreaming about this friend. Woo.

Yvonne, I'm FEELING you, and I'm not even knocked up.

Went back to bed shortly after I posted last, and I had a dream. The part I remember?

Holy shit, what a crazy day, y'all! Just as I was coming down from interviewing Roger Clyne (more about that in a minute) and getting ready to finish my business stories, I get a phone call from a source in my one beat that the paper's going to have to pry out of my cold, dead hands letting me know that the thing I'd been waiting for is ready. So, desperately trying to get in touch with my one editor, who wasn't around, I had to talk to the AME, who was like, "Ok, DEEP BREATHS. Do you need to prioritize?" "Yeah," I somewhat whimpered.

So, totally switching gears, my business stories have been held to next week, I pounded out my big beat story, and then I had to go into Gary to cover an awards dinner. Tried to make it to a third story, but that one's running for Saturday, so I can do it tomorrow. Still, I'm all flummoxed. So much for having this shit all worked out.

So Roger Clyne? So best.