Does anyone interpret dreams?

I had a very vivid one last night or this morning.
It took me back to my hockey trainer days in Iroquois Falls. (To the uninitiated, a trainer does not train anyone -- hell, I can't even skate -- but is the first aid guy/den mother for the team). Queen Elizabeth was a special guest at the game. She was supposed to be performing a ceremonial face-off partway through the game, not at the beginning of it. The face-off was right in front of our bench. Although Her Majesty was supposed to be performing the face-off, the referee -- who just happened to be a guy I worked with at the TV station in Timmins -- dropped the puck, right onto Her Maj's head.
She swooned, I jumped over the boards and grabbed her arm to prevent her from hitting the ice. She took off her fancy hat (that chick has great taste in hats!) and I removed the toque she was wearing underneath it. There was nary a mark on her royal head, but I called out to someone on the bench to get me an ice pack. I was thinking to myself that even though she was the Queen, my old trick of using an ice pack as a placebo to calm down a player and make him think he was getting better when he was never really hurt in the first place, would also work on her.
Before I could get the ice pack, the Queen's protocol director appeared, announcing that the visit was over, and the Queen must leave. So I let her hold my arm while I walked her around the edge of the rink to the exit on the far side, rather than just leave the ice at our bench, some three feet away.
As we walked, she said she would rather stay. I told the protocol director that it was just an unfortunate accident, and Her Majesty was not injured, but he just clicked his tonight behind his teeth in that tsk-tsk sound, making it very clear that he did not believe that, and the visit was indeed over. The Queen pointed out that she had no say in anything, must obey the protocol director, and that every second of her life was dictated to her.
As we walked out to Her Majesty's rock star bus, I asked if she had ever played hockey. She said no, but that she did ice skate quite often.
As we got to the bus, a huge black bodyguard stepped off of the bottom step, offered the Queen his arm, and shook my hand. The bus then left, and I returned to the game. Several spectators sitting behind our bench cracked a lot of jokes about the entire affair, and roared with laughter when I told them I could walk them home, as I had done with Her Majesty.

Tell me, Dr. Freud, am I crazy? What does this dream mean? Should I lay off eating garlic like it's an apple before going to bed?

My first fireplace fire!

Last night! I took pictures! I used the timer on my camera so I could get in to some of the pictures! I'm such a loser!

How Natives get their names

(Before we get started, let me state that my Native name is Plays Baseball Like A Girl, which is a name I adopted in adulthood, and not my Native birth name.)


"Father," asked the young brave, "How do Native children get their names?"

"Well, my son," his father replied, "when a Native baby is born, he is named after the first sensation experienced by his father immediately following the birth. Hence, it could be Buffalo Hooves Stampeding, Eagle in Flight, Wind Rustling in Trees, or Cry of the Wolf, for example. Why do you ask, Two Dogs F**king?"

Misster Kitty will be proud of me

Man, for a straight guy, I sure can be a bee-ahtch at times.
I was just out to get a sandwich. A crabby looking old lady was waiting to come out the door that I was going in. Several people kept crowding past her. I held the door open so she could get out. As she swept past me, I loudly and clearly said "You're welcome". Then behind me, I heard a feeble "Oh, thank you."

Thank you. Thank you very much.
If I get brave enough, I might try my hand at a bitchslap. Get it? Try my HAND at a bitchslap?

Finally, pics of my house

As you probably know by now, I just moved into the first home I have ever owned. It is a three-bedroom townhouse. Here are some pics of the exterior and the ground floor. I'm not ready to share pics of the rest of the house. You'll also notice a few boxes still evident. They have mostly photographs with which I decorate, but my shui isn't fenging right now. I must be patient with that -- it'll come.

Silly melancholy feelings

I admit it: I'm a real moosh.
Today, I went back over to my old apartment to get the last few things out of it and clean it up a bit. I tell ya, I swept up enough cat hair to open a charity to make wigs for cats who have cancer.
Anyway, as much as I love my new place, I did really like that apartment, too. It was the nicest one I've ever had. So as I'm cleaning, I'm getting a bit melancholy -- not regretting the move, but just getting a little melcancholy.
Sweeping reminded me of Carol Burnett, and next thing you know, I'm singing "I'm so glad we've had this time together..." and picturing myself as her washer-woman character.
Yeah, I'm a moosh -- and a nutbar.

I'm just about at the point in the new place, where I am ready to take and post pics of the main floor, and maybe the master bedroom. Probably tomorrow night.

HELP, FELLOW BLOGLODYTES

I just bought new salt and pepper shakers, cuz the other ones got broken during my move. So far, that's the only casualty, so not bad.
The only problem is the new shakers aren't labelled (yet). One has three holes, the other has five. I'm guessing that it's three for salt, five for pepper. Am I right?

Lest we forget

"...If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields."

The Move is Complete

I have not yet begun to enjoy the extra space of my three-bedroom townhouse, because I am still surrounded by boxes. I got some unpacking done yesterday, but none today, because I do volunteer work on Wednesday mornings, and then had to come in to work.
I was counting on getting more unpacking done tomorrow morning before coming in to work, but now the boss wants me in at 9:30 am for a half-hour session with the company lawyer on libel and other legal matters related to news. Oh, well.

Coffee the Prettiest Cat Ever seems to be enjoying the new place, too. She was pretty freaked out by all the boxes during packing, and the unusual activity leading up to the move. She voiced her disapproval to being shut in to the bathroom yesterday morning while the movers got their truck loaded. But once I got her to the new place, she walked around as if to say "Nice place, Dad. Is that OUR furniture? Cool!" After a bit more exploring, she hopped up on the back of the recliner -- one of her favourite perches -- and took a cat nap. We also had a chance to take a snooze together in the same chair -- one of her favourite bonding activities -- while waiting for Cable Guy to show up.

If anyone knows a spell that will result in all the boxes being unpacked and everything put where it belongs, conjure away.