Status check.

Best indication that I might be working too much
One of the floor-to-ceiling windows near my cube is shattered and covered with a huge piece of plywood. It's been that way since last week.

I noticed it at about 5:45 this evening.

Best indication Guy With Two Dogs might be my soulmate
He makes AWESOME no-bake cookies and then forces me to take some home.

Best indication New Guy I've Been E-mailing might be my soulmate
He suggested that we meet at Dairy Queen.

Best indication that I should quit Corporate Behemoth and become a rock star
I scored a perfect 100% - at the hard skill level - singing Journey's "Any Way You Want It" in Rock Band.

Seriously, people. That's a really hard song. You basically have to have a flip-top head to hold those high notes at the end. I'm like Steve Perry, minus the mullet.

Hot air.

So, what would you do if you discovered that your dog may have peed on your hairdryer?

Welcome to my world.

Lil' Frankfurter still isn't totally housetrained. However, when he does have accidents - well, what I'm calling "accidents," what he's calling "just another bathroom choice" - they are either near the door or in the bathroom.

Right. So, we're getting closer.

Last night he pottied in the bathroom. There was a spot in the middle of the floor, and a puddle between the wall and ... my hairdryer. Because I left my hairdryer on the floor. Because I am a moron.

Now, Lil' Frank has many skillz. If you're looking for a dog to destroy toys or nudge a ball under the bathroom vanity, he is your man. However, I have not seen him display sharpshooting urination skillz. His ability to pee between the hairdryer and the wall without straying from his target is unproven.

There was no obvious urine on the hairdryer. I smelled it, and it smelled like it had been sitting on the floor next to a puddle of pee. Ok, that's to be expected.

And I have an extra hairdryer, so I can just start using that one. But ... what about the hairdryer that may or may not have been peed on? Do I throw it away, adding to the disaster that is our landfill situation? Do I wipe it down and save it for non-hair-related situations that might require ionic drying power? Or do I wipe it down and give it to Goodwill, subjecting some poor, unwitting person to possible urine-tainted hairstyling?

It's a $12 hairdryer from Target. It's not a big loss. It's just a logistical quandary. And the one guy who knows what really happened?

Well, he's not talking.

Everybody's working for the weekend.

Today, I finished a super great excellent wonderful book: The Collection. It's a novel about a seamstress working for Chanel in 1919. There's intrigue and where-is-my-life-going confusion and clothes and parties ... but all told from the point of view of a woman who doesn't buy into it all. She's in love with the art of her craft. She is a seamstress.

In the novel, the main character works freakish hours, even sleeping in the workroom at times. And that, my friends, is something I can relate to at the moment. I worked from home today and just put my computer away about 20 minutes ago - a few minutes after 9. I didn't even get as much done as I had hoped, but I gave a valiant effort.

Like the seamstress, I'm in love with my craft. I love editing. I love the patterns the words make, and the cadence of well-constructed text. I take pride in my ability to see when one of my editors has used a zero instead of a capital O. I believe perfection is possible.

But like the Chanel portrayed in The Collection, I have moments of ... well, blind rage. In the novel, Chanel runs her mouth off and pretty much makes everyone around her upset at one point or another. At Corporate Behemoth, I strive to be supportive and help my editors learn. I keep the rage inside.

But, umm? At about 8:30 tonight, into my 12th hour of editing today? At my third look in 24 hours of the same document from an editor who just isn't quite getting it? I became deliriously happy at the thought of channeling my inner Chanel.

So, courtesy of the lovely author Gioia Diliberto, here are some of Chanel's quotes from The Collection. And, courtesy of my own sick and twisted mind, here are the corresponding things I would say if I had no filter, was really, really drunk all the time and didn't mind having no friends.

Chanel, blowing off a dancer friend: You don't know what you're talking about. You've being doing too many headstands.
Cha Cha, blowing off editorial suggestions from non-editors who may or may not speak English as a second language: You don't know what you're talking about. You've been writing too much html.

Chanel, chastising an employee for her side millinery business: Since you like hats so much, you can stay with them until you die!
Cha Cha, chastising an employee for her repeated use of passive voice: You've been fired.

Chanel, plain old being mean: You're an imbecile ... I can't believe I hired someone so stupid.
Cha Cha: Actually, this one works for both of us. I can't really improve on this. After all, Chanel had style.

Chanel, screaming at a seamstress: What kind of work do you call this? ... At your age, I would have got this skirt right with my eyes closed!
Cha Cha, screaming at an editor: What kind of work do you call this? I haven't taken grammar since eighth grade and even I recognize that "days is" just might be grammatically incorrect! Do you really need to review it a fourth time to catch that? Seriously? And while you're at it, put a space between those sentences. Strangely enough, that's considered standard in written English. Or so I've been told. But don't mind me - and I know you don't, since you skip about every third direction I provide.

Ahh. And that would be my inner monologue, the one that never, ever, ever passes my lips or runs through my fingertips ... until now. Don't tell.

I feel so much better. And like any good afterglow, I think I need a cigarette.

Don't mind me.

About 99.97% of the photos featuring Foxie Doxie feature not a dog, but a brown, possibly furry blur.

Foxie? Not a sedentary sort of dog.

This used to really annoy me - mostly because I felt like I totally had favorites. I had a gazillion photos of the Geriatric Poodle and maybe 2 of Foxie Doxie.

But now that I have joined the modern world and own a digital camera, my photographic outlook has changed. Because of the sheer volume of photos that I take of Foxie and Lil' Frankfurter, I think some of the blurry ones are just marvelous.

Now, this is real hot dog action.

Lil' Frank has the ball ... he's at the 40! He's at the 30! Twenty! Ten ...

Sometimes? I'm too slow and I miss all the action. I have a lot of photos of the floor or the yard.

But other times I end up with something like a graceful watercolor. I just love this photo, so in the tradition of overbearing mothers everywhere, I must implore you: Look at my baby!

Ok, I'm done now. Return to your regularly scheduled programming.

How I spent my Fourth of July vacation.

Basically, I sat on my ass. For two days.

And then, on the third day? I got the home decorating / home improvement / I-am-insane bug.

It wasn't entirely surprising. Last weekend, I cleaned out my closet. And, like, organized my clothes. It looked like this.

That thud you hear is the sound of my mom's unconscious body hitting the floor. I have traditionally not been an organized closet sort of gal.

Also, I'd like to just state for the record that I've worn the same shoe size since fifth grade, my mom and I wear the same size, I always always buy on sale, and included in the pictured collection are treasures such as the shoes my grandma wore to my parents' wedding.

Anyway.

But on the third day of the holiday weekend? I decided I should paint my closet! Because "dirty" isn't a wall color that's terribly fashionable nowadays.

So, I used some paint on hand. Believe it or not, I painted my kitchen - yes, my kitschy kitchen - this shade of pink Fiestaware when I first bought my house. I loved it. And I think it's a lovely background to my armoire.

And the light in the closet?

Yes, that is athletic tape holding it to the ceiling. It was there when I bought the house. Don't judge me.

Well, Mr. Guy With Two Dogs replaced it in exchange for sloppy joes. Now - behold the glory!

The closet wasn't the only bit of craziness. I also got a wild hare about painting the inside of my front door.

See? The white was nice.
But the pop of color? Well, it's better.

Kindly avert your eyes away from the dead leaves on the plant. Sure, I'm a design superstar? But I'm human.

Funny thing about all these quirky little projects. They reflect stuff that I've dreamed of doing for a while, but always figured that they were just the sort of thing you'd have to undo to stage a house for sale. And for about a year, I figured that day was just around the corner, seeing as how The Ex-Boyfriend Formerly Known as Mr. Wonderful and I were on the verge of getting engaged.

Only now do I realize how much of my life I put on hold for that. I didn't paint my closet because I figured I would be moving soon anyway? Seriously?

On one hand, that's really sad. But on the other, it's honest. And by painting my closet the color of Pepto, in some ways I acknowledged that this is my house. It can be whatever I want it to be. And I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, and that's just fine.

Welcome to Monday.

It's been a long day. Everybody seems to have a bit of the long-weekend hangover. I know that I was ready to go to bed at 7 tonight. And yet? Yet, it's after 10 and I'm not really sure what I've been doing.

Well, two things, actually.

1. I watched helplessly as Lil' Frankfurter took a dump in my living room. And yes, I did just let it sit there for about 20 minutes.

But why, Cha Cha?

I was busy. I was reading Entertainment Weekly and eating a cupcake with chocolate frosting. Obviously, puppy poo did not fit into this equation. And I was tired.

2. I spoke with my mom about lots of things, including Creepy Stalker Guy. We decided that I should continue to monitor the situation without responding. But then? Then we determined my road to fame and fortune.

It all started out with an off-hand (and, let's be honest, not entirely true ... but not entirely false) comment about Creepy Stalker Guy getting hit by a bus. But, I don't know any bus drivers. So, I'm going to have to start taking public transportation, get to know some bus drivers, and pick an easily influenced driver to seduce. Then, I'm going to have to do some stalking of my own to figure out Creepy Stalker Guy's routine so that my bus driver can run him down and make it look like an accident. And then my driver will probably be investigated for the accident, and maybe under pressure he'll rat me out, and then I'll be all, "I don't even ride the bus. I have a Honda." And there will be a big uproar that will become a rallying cry for the value of public transportation and it will then become a Lifetime Made for TV Movie: Catch the Bus: The Cha Cha Story, starring Kellie Martin as yours truly and Steve Buscemi as Creepy Stalker Guy. And maybe in a total casting coup, Tori Spelling and her husband, Dean Whats-His-Name would play my dating gurus Alice and Jake - which would be a nice tie-in to Tori's creepy dating Lifetime classic, Mother May I Sleep With Danger.

So, I guess I have been really busy tonight.

Are you effing kidding me?

I received this voicemail tonight.

Cha Cha. Creepy Stalker Guy. You have such a pleasant voice on voicemail - not that you have an unpleasant voice in person. I didn't mean that. But you said if I ever called, you'd answer (1). Umm. So I'm calling. I know you didn't answer, but I'm hoping you'll call me back.

I need match.com advice. It's awful. It's horrible. I got an e-mail from somebody I was supposed to meet and it's meaner than the one that you sent me, that's pretty mean - and crappy (2). It's like the crappiest one ever. I don't know what to do with her.

So, anyway, I'm just a guy looking for guidance. That's it. It's that simple. Umm. And I thought perhaps you could help me and offer some guidance. So, that's the reason I'm calling. If you would like, please give me a call back - 555-1212 - and I look forward to talking to you and just picking your brain, if you don't mind. I'd appreciate that. So. I hope you had a great holiday weekend and like I said I look forward to hearing back from you (3). Bye.

1. I said I'd call him back, yes - but this was before he offered to pay me to go out with him and showed such an utter lack of respect for me and my wishes. Oh, and this was before two months - TWO MONTHS - of annoying texts and e-mails that I haven't responded to.

2. My "mean" e-mail was in response to one he sent me before we met - an e-mail in which he berated me for taking five days to respond to his e-mail. This should have been a red, red flag to me, but, alas.

3. Hold your breath, buddy. Hold your breath.