Sparkling grape juice + Michael Damian=cop fetish

I've been trying to figure out the root of my fascination with men in uniform, particularly police offices. I searched into my past to find my earliest encounter with the police that didn't involve getting 3 moving violations in one night (that's a whole different post) or a parking ticket. After much consideration, I think have a pretty good idea from where it stems...

It was New Year's Eve 1989. My parents were out with their friends so my sister and I were home alone. In order to make the night special, my mom bought us sparkling grape juice and told us we could sleep in their big bed while they stayed in the hotel. What my mom didn't know was that this night would have been special with or without the sparkling grape juice and the master suite (not true anymore). That's because Michael Damian was performing in Times Square when the ball dropped. At this point you should be saying to yourself: "Michael Damian? Who the hell is that?" That's because he sucked. He was one of those soap opera actors who tried to become a rock star (ala Rick Springfield, Jack Wagner and John Stamos). At the time though, I thought he was incredibly talented and underrated. I even saw him in concert (opening for Sheena Easton; I bought a t-shirt with her face on it). All you have to do is look at this picture to know just how ridiculously lame this guy was.

Anyway, you must be wondering at this point how sparkling grape juice and Michael Damian led to a cop fetish. Well, I'm getting there. My sister Melissa and I, both crazed Michael Damian fans, were very excited that he was finally getting his due propers by being given the honor of performing at the ball dropping ceremony. As time ticked down to midnight, we settled into our parents' big bed, poured ourselves a glass of sparkling grape juice, set the burglar alarm, and geared up for a Michael Damian fest. Just as the ball dropped, Michael Damian came roaring (more like prancing) onto the stage and played some crappy ass song that sent me into a frenzy. I started screaming like he was playing live in my parents' master bedroom. I screamed so loud that the windows and sliding doors rattled, setting off the burglar alarm in the house. The alarm company called immediately and asked for the emergency security code, which my sister and I did not know. I promised them I lived at the house and it was a false alarm, but they sent a cop anyway....

And that one cop sparked a life-long fascination with the badge. The doorbell rang only seconds after I hung up the phone with the alarm company. My sister and I ran to the door to see a local police officer there in his uniform with his gun and all the cool (hot) gadgets that come with being a cop. I don't remember exactly what he looked like, but in my current fantasies he's tall, dark, has a chiseled jaw and is just a little bit dumb. I assured him that everything was okay (but maybe you should come in and do a search, just in case...), and he left us to our Michael Damian fest. But as Michael performed, I couldn't help but think he'd look even better in a blue shirt and a badge.