Welcome to the return of I like Monday!
Today, I like Noxema. And walking.
First with the Noxema. I used it in junior high and thought that every other facial cleanser in the world was more luxurious and would bring me happiness. I branched out. Mary Kay, Clinique, Neutrogena, The Body Shop - yeah, my complexion has been around the block. But for the last two years, I've been back with my giant $3.87 tub of eucalyptus goodness. Noxema keeps my skin clear, is refreshing and is dirt flippin' cheap.
And, it's great on sunburns.
Next with the walking. I like walking. Walking with other people. Other people like Mr. eHarmony.
Current score: EGG 1, BOB 0.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Sunday, May 20, 2007
And then he left a note in my locker. OMG!
So. Aliens invaded my body and I suggested that Mr. eHarmony and I meet for ice cream.
We did. He's dreamy. And let me try a bite of his sundae. And got me a jacket from his car when I got cold. And is cute, cute, cute.
We talked on the phone tonight for two hours and 23 minutes.
And we're going to go for a walk tomorrow night and then grab dinner.
And this is all setting up battle royale in my tiny little brain.
In one corner, we have the Eighth Grade Girl (EGG). She is quite the smitten kitten. Mr. eHarmony is cute, cute, cute, and gave her a bite of his sundae. EGG is pretty sure that she can just cancel her eHarmony membership right now because Mr. eHarmony is funny and smart and employed and cute, cute, cute.
In the other corner, we have the Bitter Old Bitch (BOB). She is pretty sure that Mr. eHarmony has several wives across the country. And herpes. She's sure he has herpes and can't wait to spread it around some more. BOB thinks that she should probably sue eHarmony now for setting her up with such a psycho killer.
Every time I think BOB is going to win, EGG smears on some strawberry Lip Smacker and BOB falters just a bit. And then BOB thinks about He Who Shall Not Be Named and gets just a teensy bit more bitter, which causes EGG to forget her hall pass ... and it's going to be a doozy of a fight.
Right now, I'm sort of hoping that EGG wins. After all, Bon Jovi has a new song out, and it's been about 19 years since I pined away for a boy while listening to the boys from New Jersey. This could be fun.
We did. He's dreamy. And let me try a bite of his sundae. And got me a jacket from his car when I got cold. And is cute, cute, cute.
We talked on the phone tonight for two hours and 23 minutes.
And we're going to go for a walk tomorrow night and then grab dinner.
And this is all setting up battle royale in my tiny little brain.
In one corner, we have the Eighth Grade Girl (EGG). She is quite the smitten kitten. Mr. eHarmony is cute, cute, cute, and gave her a bite of his sundae. EGG is pretty sure that she can just cancel her eHarmony membership right now because Mr. eHarmony is funny and smart and employed and cute, cute, cute.
In the other corner, we have the Bitter Old Bitch (BOB). She is pretty sure that Mr. eHarmony has several wives across the country. And herpes. She's sure he has herpes and can't wait to spread it around some more. BOB thinks that she should probably sue eHarmony now for setting her up with such a psycho killer.
Every time I think BOB is going to win, EGG smears on some strawberry Lip Smacker and BOB falters just a bit. And then BOB thinks about He Who Shall Not Be Named and gets just a teensy bit more bitter, which causes EGG to forget her hall pass ... and it's going to be a doozy of a fight.
Right now, I'm sort of hoping that EGG wins. After all, Bon Jovi has a new song out, and it's been about 19 years since I pined away for a boy while listening to the boys from New Jersey. This could be fun.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Happy birthday to me
Here: just got home from meeting girlfriends for drinks downtown.
Very suburban girlfriends.
Girlfriends who loudly commented - while crossing the street alongside a drag queen - that it wasn't very nice for another girl to make fun of them for never leaving suburbia. And girlfriends who felt the need to then pull each other aside and say, "That was a drag queen, right? Did everybody see that? We are SO downtown!"
This, after a night hearing about babies and American Girl dolls and lactating.
I pretty much want to die.
Ok, not really. But I'm conflicted. And rather depressed that this was literally the best that I could do on my birthday. But then, I think about how my birthday was, for six years, the annual day when I actually got up the hope that I'd get an engagement ring. The day when I would have to stand in front of the bathroom mirror and give myself a pep talk after I received whatever crappy gift He Who Shall Not Be Named picked up on the way home.
Dear Birthday,
You generally suck. Sure, we've had some good times, but lately, not so much. How can we remedy this? Do you need counseling? Or a makeover? I will gladly cover your co-pay or meet you at Sephora. Whatever it takes, baby. We've got to get you out of this funk.
Love,
Cha Cha
P.S. I understand that you are also Tori Spelling's birthday, and that of Studs Terkel as well. Are they being too high maintenance? Or do they give you something that I can't, like media coverage? Tell me how I can make this relationship sizzle, baby. We can make it - you an' me!
Very suburban girlfriends.
Girlfriends who loudly commented - while crossing the street alongside a drag queen - that it wasn't very nice for another girl to make fun of them for never leaving suburbia. And girlfriends who felt the need to then pull each other aside and say, "That was a drag queen, right? Did everybody see that? We are SO downtown!"
This, after a night hearing about babies and American Girl dolls and lactating.
I pretty much want to die.
Ok, not really. But I'm conflicted. And rather depressed that this was literally the best that I could do on my birthday. But then, I think about how my birthday was, for six years, the annual day when I actually got up the hope that I'd get an engagement ring. The day when I would have to stand in front of the bathroom mirror and give myself a pep talk after I received whatever crappy gift He Who Shall Not Be Named picked up on the way home.
Dear Birthday,
You generally suck. Sure, we've had some good times, but lately, not so much. How can we remedy this? Do you need counseling? Or a makeover? I will gladly cover your co-pay or meet you at Sephora. Whatever it takes, baby. We've got to get you out of this funk.
Love,
Cha Cha
P.S. I understand that you are also Tori Spelling's birthday, and that of Studs Terkel as well. Are they being too high maintenance? Or do they give you something that I can't, like media coverage? Tell me how I can make this relationship sizzle, baby. We can make it - you an' me!
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Where you at?
Cha Cha, are you ok?
To all of my three readers, never fear! I did not drown in the basement. Surrogate Dad rode in on his white horse and rerouted the sump pump. While standing in five inches of water. As you do.
Yeah, he's pretty much the best. Ever.
I knew the water was rising, but I didn't realize how high it would get. I lost my sewing machine, because I'm assuming you shouldn't use them after they've been, you know, sauteed in flood water. And my Christmas tree is currently up in my garage, drying out and outing me as white trash. Christmas tree in May? Don't mind if I do!
The really wonderful thing about having a flooded basement - besides all of the exercise - is that people are nice to you. People like your dads.
Surrogate Dad was there in a hurry to fix the pipe.
And Dad Dad said the nicest things, which was sort of like covering my little broken heart with chocolate frosting. He said, "Oh, honey. You know if I lived any closer, I'd be right there."
Ohhh. Daddy, I'm so sorry I live far away. I don't know why. I just have to.
And later, when I recounted that the Horrible. Smell. Emanating from the basement was, in fact, caused by two pillows in a trash bag that had sort of absorbed 37 gallons of icky water and started to ferment? He said, "Well, it's a sign that you need to redecorate."
Wise, wise words. He's smarter than even Oprah.
To all of my three readers, never fear! I did not drown in the basement. Surrogate Dad rode in on his white horse and rerouted the sump pump. While standing in five inches of water. As you do.
Yeah, he's pretty much the best. Ever.
I knew the water was rising, but I didn't realize how high it would get. I lost my sewing machine, because I'm assuming you shouldn't use them after they've been, you know, sauteed in flood water. And my Christmas tree is currently up in my garage, drying out and outing me as white trash. Christmas tree in May? Don't mind if I do!
The really wonderful thing about having a flooded basement - besides all of the exercise - is that people are nice to you. People like your dads.
Surrogate Dad was there in a hurry to fix the pipe.
And Dad Dad said the nicest things, which was sort of like covering my little broken heart with chocolate frosting. He said, "Oh, honey. You know if I lived any closer, I'd be right there."
Ohhh. Daddy, I'm so sorry I live far away. I don't know why. I just have to.
And later, when I recounted that the Horrible. Smell. Emanating from the basement was, in fact, caused by two pillows in a trash bag that had sort of absorbed 37 gallons of icky water and started to ferment? He said, "Well, it's a sign that you need to redecorate."
Wise, wise words. He's smarter than even Oprah.
Monday, May 7, 2007
I should have moved to the desert.
I no longer need to visit India because I have seen the monsoon. I was driving home from a weekend with the 'rents and endured two full hours of oh-my-god-where-is-the-road driving in a downpour. Yay!
And then?
And then I was exhausted and got home and hurriedly unloaded all of the stuff and unpacked my bag right away because I was ready to collapse on the couch and possibly fall asleep around 9.
And then?
And then I went to put away my empty bag, only to find two inches of water in my basement.
Long and painful story short?
The pipe from the drain into the sump is clogged. And I think I burned out the sump pump by sweeping approximately 879 gallons of water into it. And Surrogate Dad is coming over in the morning, but it's 12:43 a.m. and I'm scared to go to sleep for fear that my basement will be a deep swimming pool when I wake up.
I've just spent the last two hours creating a mountain of crap in the last dry corner of the basement, and hauling water out of the sump in a three-gallon bucket. And I couldn't even tell the difference whenever I pulled another three gallons out of the sump.
Dear Cinder Block Basement:
I thought we were friends. What gives?
Cha Cha
And it's still raining. Oh, dear. Oh, dear, dear, dear.
And then?
And then I was exhausted and got home and hurriedly unloaded all of the stuff and unpacked my bag right away because I was ready to collapse on the couch and possibly fall asleep around 9.
And then?
And then I went to put away my empty bag, only to find two inches of water in my basement.
Long and painful story short?
The pipe from the drain into the sump is clogged. And I think I burned out the sump pump by sweeping approximately 879 gallons of water into it. And Surrogate Dad is coming over in the morning, but it's 12:43 a.m. and I'm scared to go to sleep for fear that my basement will be a deep swimming pool when I wake up.
I've just spent the last two hours creating a mountain of crap in the last dry corner of the basement, and hauling water out of the sump in a three-gallon bucket. And I couldn't even tell the difference whenever I pulled another three gallons out of the sump.
Dear Cinder Block Basement:
I thought we were friends. What gives?
Cha Cha
And it's still raining. Oh, dear. Oh, dear, dear, dear.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
My gift to you
Dear eHarmonizers,
Since I've been a part of the eHarmony family for lo these long 10 days, I have a plethora of experience to share with my less-experienced brethren. Take it to heart and maybe you'll find someone to take home.
1. Don't tell me that your parents or grandparents are the most influential people in your life. Dude, that's a gimme. When you tell me that your grandpa helped you become the man you are today, in my mind, you are the same man as the other 18 profiles in my inbox.
2. Read something besides Dan Brown. Seriously. Even Scott Turow and Michael Crichton are novel since every single guy says he just read Angels and Demons or The DaVinci Code. Make something else up if you have to - what are the chances of being called upon for an impromptu book report?
3. Your photos. A pic of some dude 40 feet away from the camera doesn't give me a lot to work with. And that girl you literally tore out of the photo? I know she's your ex who you will say was a total bitch. And if I asked her about you, she'd say you didn't know how to use Photoshop and it put an irreparable chasm in your relationship.
I think that's it for now. To recap: get influenced by some non-parental people. And pick up a book that doesn't suck - maybe one on digital photography.
Love,
Cha Cha
Since I've been a part of the eHarmony family for lo these long 10 days, I have a plethora of experience to share with my less-experienced brethren. Take it to heart and maybe you'll find someone to take home.
1. Don't tell me that your parents or grandparents are the most influential people in your life. Dude, that's a gimme. When you tell me that your grandpa helped you become the man you are today, in my mind, you are the same man as the other 18 profiles in my inbox.
2. Read something besides Dan Brown. Seriously. Even Scott Turow and Michael Crichton are novel since every single guy says he just read Angels and Demons or The DaVinci Code. Make something else up if you have to - what are the chances of being called upon for an impromptu book report?
3. Your photos. A pic of some dude 40 feet away from the camera doesn't give me a lot to work with. And that girl you literally tore out of the photo? I know she's your ex who you will say was a total bitch. And if I asked her about you, she'd say you didn't know how to use Photoshop and it put an irreparable chasm in your relationship.
I think that's it for now. To recap: get influenced by some non-parental people. And pick up a book that doesn't suck - maybe one on digital photography.
Love,
Cha Cha
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