Eye of the tiger? More like eye of the dachshund.

I'm tired. I'm work tired and socially tired and preemptively tired.

I have big stuff going on the next two weekends. The last two weekends had big stuff going on. Work is insane. And I have to travel again. All of this is really, really good. But ... I'm burning the candle at both ends.

I'm having trouble remembering to be here now - to be in the moment.

I snapped this picture today after Foxie Doxie had sunned himself on the deck for about an hour. His shiny fur was warm to the touch and he was obviously delirious with joy.

I need to be more like Foxie.

You are a mediocre companion.

College roommate reunion continues. We've eaten bagel dogs. And cupcakes. And Chinese food. And I feel like a beached whale. But a very happy beached whale.

One of my friends has a lovely 6-year-old who made us all construction paper signs. I received these two:

You are niys

and

I like you. But BOO!

Heh heh heh.

We've also had in depth conversations about important topics facing western culture today. Of course, this means we've discussed bikini waxes. And gossiped about our sorority sisters. But here's the deal: once you've lived with three other women in a 12' by 12' room crammed with two bunk beds, two desks and two dressers? Well, you're friends for life. And there are very few topics that are off limits.

Yes, this means we also talked about hemorrhoids, the truth about marriage and random memories that some or all of us might or might not actually remember.

If you were a fly on the wall, you would have overheard gems like:

Don't you remember? You and Faith went to some soap actors' appearance on campus and one of the actors cupped your face in his hands and said, "You have the most perfect eyebrows. Don't ever change?"

And, of course, the title of this post. To be honest, I don't even remember the context - I think it had something to do with Hallmark. But no matter what? It's brilliant.

Hey, I'm walkin' here!

My sweet college roommates are visiting this weekend. This means:

1. Lots of eating. Like, lots of eating.

2. Lots of conversations like this one:

You're friends with him on Facebook? Did you ever e-mail him and say, 'Hey, thanks for breaking my heart?'

Yeah, and also 'Thanks for being an asshole and making me so depressed that I listened to nothing but Counting Crows for, like, a year?'

Yeah. Is he at least fat now? Let's look him up!

Obviously, we are letting the good times roll.

Actually, it's so refreshing and fun and comforting to be with people who know all about you - have known all about you for a very long time - and who love you anyway. People who knew you when, loved you then and love you now. I am so, so fortunate.

We're also having a fun time watching for a van in front of my house and coming up with hypothetical responses to Mr. Second Chance's latest two e-mails.

On Wednesday, he wrote: I have figured out what I'm going to do! I am going to remain single and unattached until u change your mind. And if u never change your mind, then I will just remain single and unattached for the rest of my life. There, at least i have a game plan now!

And today, he recalled an earlier conversation about top five movies of all time (oh, the nostalgia - our second date!): I want to put The Graduate and Midnight Cowboy on my top 5 list. BTW, have u changed ur mind?

I am not responding because I don't want to engage him. But really? Really, it's all starting to creep me out. Because, really? Who identifies Midnight Cowboy as a movie they love and could watch again and again and again?

Best accidentally naughty Google ad.

Mom, Dad and match.com.

I showed my parents my match.com profile, and poked around the site to show them how it works. Some new guy had winked at me, so the three of us perused his profile.

First of all, he's 26.

Second of all, I sort of doubt we are a good match. His profile is ... unique. First of all, it broke my number one rule of match.com profiles: the guy posted a shirtless picture. Secondly, well, his approach to dating is a bit different from mine:

I'm looking for a good time. Don't bother messaging me if you're uptight or not looking for fun. I like to party and want to meet you. I have one piercing - it's below the waist. Just ask me and I'll tell you more.

Ooookay, then. Mom? Dad? Good thing you gave me a nice set of knives at Christmas so I don't have to get married. Ever.

In other news, Mr. Second Chance Guy has started texting me again.

First? You are my confidant. I'm bonking my head on the steering wheel after another bad date. I think I should give up.

Second, about a day later? Cha Cha, help? Do you have any single friends who are exactly identical to you who might be interested in me?

And finally, this afternoon? Can a guy get a third chance? Do u even give third chances? If u do, how does a guy get one? Can I buy one? I'll even pay extra.

Now, I haven't responded to any of these texts, and considering they are getting decidedly creepy, I'm not going to. Besides, my parents told me not to.

And now? Now, I'm watching an Indy 500 DVD with my dad, laughing hysterically at a home movie with Tony Kanaan. He's sneaking up on other drivers at a media event ... with a fart button. Hahaha.

Obviously, I am a very complex woman.

Back home again.

I have escaped Corporate Behemoth! I'm in Iowa, hanging with my parents. Tomorrow, my dad and I will head to the Hoosier State, where we will revel in The Greatest Spectacle in Racing.

I drove here with the windows down. I love the way spring smells. This time of year, Iowa smells like honeysuckle. Of course, there are parts of the Hawkeye State that also smell like money. And, umm, here? Money smells sort of ... uh ... earthy.

But I like the smell of honeysuckle. And I like the smell of green.

I like how my longer hair whips around in the windy car. And I like my new, oversized sunglasses that make me feel fabulous.

I like hanging with my folks. And I like how Shih Tzu Magic looked at me with disdain, then perused my empty car. He peed on a bush, then licked my leg, thanking me for leaving Foxie Doxie and Lil' Frankfurter at home. They are currently hanging with Puppy Love Lisa, the dog sitter and their Favorite Human Ever. Everyone is happy.

I like that it's spring, and I can feel summer coming on. I also like how I can feel Corporate Behemoth fading away, even if it's just for four days.

Risin' up!

Monday morning, when I had to scrape myself out of bed with a mental spatula, I realized that this very, very busy time at Corporate Behemoth needed a theme song. And that song was, of course, Eye of the Tiger.

I just have to power through. I have a gazillion things to do in a very brief time frame. Must stay focused. Must kick corporate ass. Eye of the Tiger, babee. Eye of the Tiger.

All week has been very Eye of the Tiger. And I'm discovering new depths of exhaustion. Because when you're all Eye of the Tiger, all day, every day? It's hard to shift to an 80s power ballad theme song of lesser energy and anxiety, like an Open Arms or even a Sister Christian. And when you're all Eye of the Tiger? You're like Chuck Norris. You don't sleep. You wait.

This week has reminded me of what it's like being a workaholic. There's adrenaline and you feel all self righteous ... except with working, there's no reason to feel self righteous. It's all an illusion.

Lil' Frankfurter is asleep, stretched out across my lap. And Foxie Doxie is curled up nearby. I'm going to be all crazylike and follow their example. I'm going to go to bed. At 10 p.m. Like normal people do.

Wish me luck.

Seriously?

Two things:

1. I went to lunch today with some awesome coworker / friends who were kind enough to take me out for a belated birthday lunch. While we were waiting to be seated, I heard my name, and so looked around like a spaced-out dork. Who would be calling my name but ... Ex-Ex.

He was sitting so close to where I was standing that it was impossible for me not to say hello. His hair is growing out, and he looks like a Q-Tip - not so much Bull from Night Court anymore.

"So," Ex-Ex asked. "Playing hookie again?"

Dude.

"Well, yes, if by 'playing hookie,' you mean 'going out for lunch to celebrate my birthday.'"

He was startled. My birthday is obviously not on his radar anymore. Good.

After a little more small talk, I joined my friends for tasty vittles. But tonight? Tonight I had this waiting in my inbox:

Cha Cha,

I am so, so sorry I totally spaced on your birthday. I hope it was a good one. Let me buy you a drink or six soon.

Happy 29th!

Ex-Ex

Seriously?

Dude. You totally phoned it in on every birthday I had in the seven years we were together. I would have to give myself pep talks in the bathroom mirror when I realized that the too-small, white, unlined sundress or the planter filled with stuff you grabbed on the way home was the full extent of my birthday gift - no engagement ring in sight. The last year we were together, we went to Chipotle for my birthday.

Chipotle. Seriously?

So, if you're feeling like you need to make up for all the birthdays you "missed?" The count's at 12. And by the way? I'm not 29. I'm 34. Because unlike some people? I am perfectly happy with who I am and where I am. Seriously.

2. Your friend and mine, drawer queen, sadly does not have any photographic evidence of the ensemble that inspired this dramatic haiku:
Envious laughter?
Purple zip front shorts jump suit
I made it myself

Seriously, that's a shame. A damned shame. But in her kind e-mail, drawer queen spoke of magical things - discount shopping with the goal of assembling the ugliest outfit for fame and free lunch! Fun times should I ever be in her fair city ...

Her fair city, which happens to be ... my fair city.

We live within walking distance of each other.

Seriously?

Holy shit!

And so, we shall plan the date I am most looking forward to in all of my many, many dates: The Blog Date! And I'm pretty sure drawer queen isn't hoping I'll put out, so that's a relief.

Seriously? The world is a fucking tiny place. I am so delighted.

Birthdays and haikus and embarassment, oh my!

I have learned an important life lesson, and I'd like to share it with you.

When you're all jet-laggy from a horrible business trip? And you drag yourself into work anyway? And then the next day you go out on a date and don't get to bed until 2? And then the day after that you go to a birthday sleepover extravaganza? And then the day after that you get up early and then pretend to be normal all day? And then the day after that is Monday and you realize at 7:15 a.m. that you have an appointment at your allergist - whose office is 25 minutes away - at 8 a.m.?

Yeah. The important life lesson is that all of that shit makes you really, really, really tired. And it makes you a really, really, really crappy blogger.

I have missed you all! Almost as much as I miss sleep!

My birthday was pretty low-key and pretty great. I have many kind, thoughtful friends. And I love the fact that my brother called me the day after my birthday, sang a song on my voicemail, and then realized mid-song that he wasn't sure if my actual birthday was that day or the day before. Poochie is infamous in our family for not remembering any birthdays ever, and he did not disappoint.

But what is disappointing is that it's taken me so long to highlight the fantastic "I'm so glad I'm not 13 anymore" haikus! Thank you to everyone who submitted a verse about their awkward adolescence. Here are some gems:

From the lovely Green Girl:
backstabbing, pretty,
two-faced, flattering, cunning
popular girls ruled

Mmm hmm. Girl, that is so true. Those bitches made my life hell. Laura Bailey, who would walk past me in the hall and say random stuff like "Nice pants, loser?" I'm looking at you.

Sweet Dorrie wrote:
Oh, to be thirteen
Acting like you are so cool
Knowing you are not...

Ohhh. I knew a lot of girls who were like this at 21, too.

Sister Three chimed in:
Why don't they see me
I have so much to offer
Please give me a chance

I happen to know Sister Three pretty well, and I will say that she does have a lot to offer. Also, she needs a blog.

My sweet friend You Gotta Wonder wrote about that all-too-awful part of ... blossoming:
From tomboy to girl
I go from stick to figure
Unwelcome changes

Confession: a girl in my gym class told a bunch of boys that I had the best boobs in 7th grade. I was mortified. I still am.

Husband of BFF even got into the action, although I'm pretty sure he's not interested in a Lurlene McDaniel novel:
Why am I so pissed?
Parents don't know anything
My life really sucks

I think the pissed part might be more of a guy 13-year-old thing, but I can certainly relate.

The amazing Magic27, who is herself a birthday girl today, wrote the truth about every 13-year-old girl:
Smallest in the class
Pathologically shy
Goddess deep inside

I really, really love the idea of 13-year-old girls being goddesses deep inside. And so, the fantastic prize pack goes to Magic27 - foreign postage be damned!

I do have a special award for drawer queen:
Envious laughter?
Purple zip front shorts jump suit
I made it myself

Yes, that laughter is envious. Very, very jealous. Drawer queen, if you send me a photo of this fashion-forward ensemble - and allow me to post it - I will knit you a scarf from the most gorgeous art yarn I just scored on etsy.com. I'm not kidding. E-mail me. Let's talk. At the very least, I want to go shopping with you in the hopes your sense of style will rub off.

Thank you all for reading, and for commenting, and for generally making my life better. Seriously.

Get your shit and get the eff out.

I am attempting to bake oatmeal cookies tonight.

It was a really, really bad idea.

I think I added too much flour. And of course I was attempting a double batch. So I threw some craisins in, hoping that would even things out a bit. And it didn't. And I'm so tired I don't even know if I care.

I'm tired because I got home at 2 a.m. this morning. My flight home from Boston took me through Milwaukee - which always makes me think of Alice Cooper in Wayne's World, being all "Mil-wau-KAY." Heh.

So, I had a stopover in MilwauKAY due to bad weather. We sat for an hour and a half. Then we taxied, basically doing donuts on the runway. Then it got really warm in the cabin, so they turned on the AC. Then the cabin got sort of ... smoky.

The plane taxied back to the gate, and one of the attendants got on the speaker. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're returned to the gate. As you may have noticed, when we turned on the air conditioning, a very, very small amount of white smoke filled the cabin. We'd like to get that checked out. At this time, we ask that you gather your belongings - JUST THE SMALL STUFF, DON'T GRAB THE BIG STUFF - and exit the plane AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE. Thank you."

So much for grace under pressure. This woman was obviously freaking out.

So we deplaned. After about 20 minutes, they let us get back on the plane to grab, you know, the big stuff, and we were herded to another gate to await another plane. A plane that couldn't land on account of the weather.

Everything in the terminal was closed, including the nearest bathroom. And there was a long line in front of the two vending machines at the other end of the terminal. Oh, MilwauKAY - nobody loves me like you do. Except maybe Cleveland.

So, basically, my flight finally took off at 11:45 and there was crazy turbulence. When we finally landed, I found myself falling out like an old church lady. Oh, thank you, thank you, sweet eight-pound, five-ounce baby Jesus. Thank you.

Today, I am rocking my glasses, huge bags under my eyes, and a rather sour attitude. Since I'm not firing on all cylinders, I also completely spaced a meeting with my boss and evidently zombied my way through a good part of the day, as is evidenced by this e-mail:

Cha Cha-

Saw you at Chipotle today. How's it going?

Ex-Ex

Sonofbitchshit. Of course, the one day I look and feel like ass is the day I run into Ex-Ex. Of course, he recently shaved his head for charity and now looks like Bull from Night Court - which I know because he sent me a photo (Umm? Why?). So, a) no wonder I didn't recognize him in my delirium; and b) I probably shouldn't be the one worrying about looking like a dork.

I'm going to bed now. But first, I want to remind you to haiku it up for fun and fabulous prizes! Don't forget to submit your "Gee, I'm so glad I'm not 13 anymore" haiku for a chance to win prizes that I promise are even cooler than the Lurlene McDaniel book I mentioned. Seriously. Cool. Prizes.

I'm so tired. Ohmygod.

Two fun things.

1. Remember last year on 30 Rock when Liz wanted to "Flee to the Cleve?" She visited Cleveland and people stopped her on the street, saying she was so pretty that she must be model.

Yeah.

A coworker originally from Ohio shared this video today. Yes, it caused me to snort in a most unladylike fashion in front of a group of my coworkers.



2. My birthday is this weekend. I will no longer be a multiple of 11, which is obviously a real downer. However, since I'm turning 34, I realized that it will have been 21 years since I turned 13. Yahoo!

Obviously, this is cause for celebration, because being 13 sucks.

And you know what celebration means at Noodleroux. Yep, that's right. Another haiku contest!

Send me your haikus about the pain, frustration, humiliation and general glamour of being 13. All submissions must be in haiku format - three lines, with the first and last with five syllables, the middle line with seven. Like this:

Oh, permtasticness!
How you complemented my
Braces and glasses.

Yeah, you know I rocked that look. Hard core.

Make me laugh with your haiku and you'll find yourself in the running for a fabulous prize pack!

How fabulous is this prize pack? Well ... do you remember Lurlene McDaniel, famous author of every "I have a terminal disease / Someone I love died / I'm the victim of some sort of crime" book you ever bought at the Scholastic Book Fair?

Of course you do!

The winner of Cha Cha's 13 Never Again Haiku Extravaganza will receive a copy of Lurlene's Time to Let Go:

The doctors assure Erin Bennett and her parents that they can't find a physical cause for her headaches. But the throbbing, violent pain is so intense that Erin knows she needs help. Even landing the lead in the senior musical opposite David Devlin, the good-looking, popular guy everyone else is wild about, doesn't give Erin much pleasure. In fact, she finds David so annoying that her headaches are getting worse.

Erin knows that the headaches started just after the death of her younger sister, Amy, one year ago. She thought her grieving was over, but somehow the headaches must be connected to Amy. The therapist Erin starts seeing beings to help her deal with her pain, but what is it about David that triggers Erin's violent reaction?

I'm sorry, but you have to assume that I'll read this before I put together the fabulous prize pack. I have to know what's causing Erin's headaches.

The prize pack will also include some fun surprises. So, haiku early and haiku often! Please leave your haiku in the comments by midnight on Friday. Because haikus? Make the world a better place.

All I got.

I needed a break from all the dating. And so? So, I traveled to Boston on behalf of Corporate Behemoth.

Before I left the house, I dropped peanut butter down the middle of my shirt. I wiped it up with a wet paper towel, but didn't realize until I was in the car that the spot remained. Nice.

Got to the airport to find that my flight was delayed. By four hours.

But while standing in line for half an hour, I got to visiting with a guy in line. Turns out, he works for Corporate Behemoth, too! And since I got to the front of the line just as the airline had discovered a small, secret stash of tickets on another airline, we approached the counter together, along with two of his coworkers. We announced that we were traveling together, and all four of us got on the magic flight.

Huzzah. I felt like I had a posse. But mostly? Mostly, I had someone to talk to and eat with on the layover. The people of Corporate Behemoth are kind.

Sadly, they were going someplace totally different in Boston, so I just drove around for 20 minutes looking for my hotel. However, since I'm alone ... no one has to know that I got sort of lost. Shh.

And now I'm here. And I don't know if I've ever been so happy to see a hotel room in my life. I don't see how people travel for work all the time. It's exhausting.

After the lovin'.

So, umm? I sort of had five dates in five days. I took Friday off. I had two dates today.

Being nice and pretending to be normal? It is exhausting.

Wednesday: Mexican with The Guy Who Looks Like Dubya. I figured this would be a one-off, but he was funny. Like, he completely surprised me with his sense of humor. He is 11 years older than I am, which seems sort of weird, but I guess it isn't. We're planning to go out again.

Thursday: Second Chance Guy. Ugh.

Friday: A day of rest. As God intended.

Saturday: Dinner with Mr. Interwebnets. I like him very much. And he scares the holy living bejesus out of me. Because he really, really likes me, says he thanks God for bringing me into his life and told me that he had a date with someone else planned the day after our first date - and cancelled, based on our first date.

We had A Talk.

This is the first time I've dated as an adult. Because really? I've only really dated two whole men since I was 22. 22! I was practically an embryo. So, I know that it's important for me to meet numerous people and date different types of people and do it all on my terms. Intellectually, I know this.

But emotionally? Emotionally, I'm all, "Mr. Interwebnets is going to be so upset. I'm not (fill in the blank) enough for him. Sure, he acts like he really likes me, but if he really gets to know me, he's so not going to like me at all."

So, we had A Talk and I told him that I am dating other people and I'm terrified and I haven't really dated as an adult and I need to do this. He said it was hard to hear, but it didn't change the way he felt about me, and that I should do whatever I needed to do. And he'd date other people, too.

He was very kind. And I feel ... incredibly broken. The Ex-Boyfriend Formerly Known as Mr. Wonderful and Ex-Ex really did a number on me. And I'm still allowing it to impact me. I believe this is known as being gun shy.

Sunday: I met Guy With Dogs to walk his two large labradoodles. We walked about four miles, which was crazy - I can't even walk Lil' Frankfurter for one mile without having to carry him. But large dogs? I felt somewhat liberated ... and also like we should start some sort of hauling service to take advantage of their brute strength.

Guy With Dogs is very funny and has kind eyes. And? Well, he figured that Foxie Doxie and Lil' Frankfurter didn't have their act together for Mother's Day. So, he brought me two pink roses as a Mother's Day gift from my dogs.

We'll be going out again.

Sunday #2: So, a random guy e-mailed me on match and mentioned - among other things - that he was going to see Englebert Humperdink in concert. When I didn't freak out, he invited me to join him.

Now, what sort of blogger would I be if I declined a first date - really, a blind date - at an Englebert Humperdink show? I would be a giant disappointment of a blogger. And your consternation would just be too much to bear.

So, I met Mr. Englebert Fan at a local casino tonight. We bought tickets and then ate at the buffet. This was my first casino buffet experience. Was it worth $25 a person? No, I dare say it was not. Not at all. Maybe if we'd camped out for several hours and actually ingested more than $2.13 in food.

Sorry. I'm from Iowa. We can make a casserole out of lint and make it taste like prime rib. I'm just sayin'.

After getting robbed at the buffet, we went to the concert. Our boy Englebert? I gotta say - he's got it going on. He's 73 and still has a great voice. His show was very Vegas.

I had asked Mr. Englebert Fan if he was a casual fan or a big fan. He's assured me he was a casual fan and just interested in seeing a living legend. And yet? And yet, after every song, Mr. Englebert Fan stood up and screamed "Niiiiiiice!" Then, he sat down and fist-bumped me.

Yes. I got fist-bumped at an Englebert Humperdink concert. I'm not making this up.

I started sort of spacing off (sorry, Englebert), thinking about how my family would react if I showed up with Mr. Englebert Guy and acted as though he hung the moon. My folks are nice people, but surely they would notice that when he spoke, Mr. Englebert Guy rolled his eyes. Like, for emphasis. Like, on every sentence. And surely my parents would pick up on the vibe I had at dinner when I had the sudden realization that the evening would be a lot more fun if Mr. Englebert Fan was my gay pal and not a date, and with that turtleneck he was sporting, it really wasn't that far off, now was it?

And then Englebert sang "After the lovin'" and I returned to Earth.

After the show, Mr. Englebert Fan raved and went on and on and on about the show and the (I admit it's true) incredible talents of Mr. Humperdink. There was more fist-bumping.

Then, we parted ways. He went to the men's room in lieu of escorting me to my car in the casino parking lot. Safety first, Englebert fans!

I got a voicemail from him a few minutes ago. He realized that I left with his ticket stub, and he likes to save such things, so would I please hang on to it for him? Thanks.

The things I do for you people.

Image courtesy of Google Images.

Truth in advertising.

So, I got yet another text from Second Chance Guy. This one was all, Did I remember to say 'fuck!' last night? Because if I didn't, then 'fuck!' :)

Umm? It's called bowing out gracefully. You might look into it.

Tonight I am exhausted and lounging about at home. Two dates down this week ... two more to go before the weekend is up. Yikes.

Alice and Jake were very interested to hear about last night's adventures in dating. I ended up on their speakerphone, getting dating guidance and laughing my ass off.

We determined that really, I have three big requirements for a beau:

1. He must think I hung the moon.


2. He must be gainfully employed and relatively content in his life.


3. He must have car seats that adjust. Because I am short.

Then there was talk about my drunken doctor friend, which led to a discussion about the pros and cons of requiring a man be able to hold is liquor. Or at least not get thrown out of events due to inebriation.

This, of course, led us to the real, down-and-dirty, dealbreaker questions.

• Would you date someone just because they were hot?


• Are you willing to date someone with a disability? If so, what types of disabilities are ok? Dyslexia? Missing a limb?


• Can you deal with someone who doesn't wear deodorant?

These are the judgments people have but don't speak of openly, or even admit. But they are there.

Then we really got into it. Why isn't there a Cut the Crap dating site? People are brutal on hotornot.com - so why not push it beyond looks and get down to the real stuff? Why isn't there a dating site that asks these questions?

• Would you date someone who is gay just to have a child?


• Would you marry someone so they could get a green card? Would the person have to be physically attractive?


• If you had a prescription for Vicodin, would you share with your partner?


• If your partner had a prescription for Vicodin, how upset would you be if he or she wouldn't share?

Ok, those last two had us rolling on the floor. We are upstanding citizens and don't abuse prescription drugs. But let's move past the tired "boxers or briefs" and "her mother is a witch" stereotypes and get down to business. Let's have a dating service that requires recent photos of parents so that you know what you'd be in for in 30 years. Let's ask all the politically incorrect and socially uncomfortable questions. Can you handle someone who clips their nails in bed but couldn't possibly live with a mate who drinks out of the milk carton? Have we got a match for you!

It makes me want to create a new dating profile, or maybe even my own site - datechacha.com.

High-maintenance SWF seeks SWM with dental insurance

I'm 33. Never married, although I lived with a man for five years, so that might make me a harlot. No kids. Two dogs. The dogs are the kids. I don't really have a biological clock.

I have dry skin and need someone to put lotion on my back. This is my real reason for looking for a mate.

I drink out of the milk carton. My dogs shed. I keep a cluttery house, am a good singer, and give preferential treatment to beaus with lakefront property. When I get angry, I stick out my chin, but if you ever call me on it, I will hate you forever. I fart. I'm a good cook. I cuss too much and get annoyed with biblical and/or Jesusy references.

My mate can leave the toilet seat up but absolutely cannot under any circumstances use all the hot water. Smoking and drugs are dealbreakers, as is being rude to retail clerks and waitstaff. Bad fashion sense is ok if you let me help you. Wearing a Bluetooth all the time is not ok - it's just assholey.

Oh, and I like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain. You know the drill.

Ok to contact about marrying for a green card: No
Ok to contact about dating gay to have a baby: No
Ok to contact about sharing prescription drugs: No

What sort of dealbreaker info am I missing?

Brutal.

Yesterday, the lovely Andi commented on my near-miss with the beagle: I promise to stay at two dogs if YOU promise to stay at two dogs. Anymore than that and we're on that slippery slope to Old Maid-ville.

Mmm ... Old Maid-ville. I don't know if I mind that cozy little town. The food is good, the pantyhose are nonexistent and I just might be living there anyway.

But Cha Cha - why?

Sigh.

Tonight I went out for a second date with the guy who begged me via text message to give him another chance.

He started out dinner by announcing that he had three very important questions for me. The first was about whether I thought love developed or if it was something you just knew right away. The second concerned my thoughts on whether or not my run of heartbreak was causing me to build up walls around my heart. And the third? I think it had to do with whether or not I was in love with Mr. Interwebnets. I don't remember.

Oh, Second Chance Guy. No, no, no. Keep it light! Keep it gay!

Then he told me about the three (yes, really, THREE) match dates he had last week - in detail. I think the point was to be all, "And none of them compared to you." But really? Really, it was more like The Love Connection if Chuck Woolery had been an actuary.

Dinner took more than two hours. We talked about movies. I tried, people. Really, I did.

He walked me to my car, and then asked if he could just ask me a favor: what did I think?

Sadly, the parking garage did not collapse right then. So I said, "I think you're great. But I think we're friends."

Which then led to a 10-minute conversation (one-sided) about how bummed he was, and how glad he was that I was honest, but really? Really, we weren't going to be friends. Because that's not the way it works. And he was just really bummed.

And I felt like a total evil wench.

We shook hands. He wished me luck. I drove off.

And when I got home, he'd sent me a text asking if I got home ok. I replied that I did, and thanked him for spending time with me.

Then, he responded with this text: I asked god last Saturday at about 5:15 to open ur heart 2 me and to lay his hands on our hearts if we are 2 be together. Minutes later u texted.

Dude. I can't kindly tell you that we aren't a love connection without you getting all biblical on me? Seriously?

I'm tempted to text back: God told me I can do better.

But I won't. Because I feel guilty that Second Chance Guy bought me dinner, only to get dissed. And really? Really, I am a nice person. I swear.

The people have spoken.

And they have demanded beagle pics. Who am I to deny them?

Behold the cuteness!

Yes, Foxie Doxie and Lil' Frankfurter are really, really glad that this guy found his family. I guess I am, too. I would have needed a bigger a bed.

Not my problem.

My theme for 2009 has been faith. Today was evidently Two-fer Tuesday in the Hey, God's Got It Under Control Department.

Best Proof God Doesn't Give You More Than You Can Handle
I had a near-miss today.

See, Alice found a dog. A beagle puppy. With no collar and no microchip.

Alice and Jake are remodeling. They can't take in a new dog.

I begrudgingly told her to call me if the puppy's parents didn't turn up. Then, I found myself rationalizing it during various meetings today. Foxie Doxie goes with the flow. And Lil' Frankfurter? He weighs seven whole pounds - he's really more of an overgrown gerbil than a dog. It would be the morally responsible thing to do to take in this dog. And having three dogs isn't like having 27 cats. I could, in theory, still date.

And then? Then, Alice found the puppy's parents.

Whew.

Best Proof God Has a Wicked Sense of Humor
So, sometimes I pray for patience, right?

At the end of a long day, I spent my evening at the meeting of a philanthropy. I listened politely to the woman who gave a meandering report during which she corrected herself, backtracked and finally admitted she didn't know what she was talking about. I just wanted to go home and put on my pajamas. But instead, I listened attentively. And I managed not to roll my eyes later when a woman proudly exclaimed that she is taking a computer class. She had just one question for the group: What's a blog? And does it have anything to do with "The Internet?"

The ensuing explanation took a mere 13 minutes and included directions on how to connect to this mythical "The Internet."

Oh, God. You are soooooo funnnnnnneeeeeeee.

I like Monday - canine edition.

The Geriatric Poodle had a long love affair with Camelia, the fleece camel. He carried her around everywhere and would often sit contentedly, gumming her grey, matted fleece and sighing with delight.

For Foxie Doxie, it's Atomic Bunny.
She's in his kennel all the time, although he's not psychotic about it or anything. Far be it from Foxie to get all wrapped up in a woman like that.
They have an understanding.

And Lil' Frankfurter? Well, in the three months he's ruled our household, he's destroyed many, many toys. Searching for The One? It ain't easy.
But, Lil' Frank has finally found love.
No, that's not a pregnancy test. It's a toothbrush. Or, rather, The Toothbrush.

Lil' Frank confiscated it when I was cleaning the bathroom. Now? They are inseparable.
The Toothbrush can withstand Lil' Frank's abuse. And Lil' Frank feels virtuous carrying The Toothbrush around the house like a prize.

I draw the line at allowing The Toothbrush in the bed. But other than that?

Whatever, dude. Whatever makes you happy. Just don't eat it, ok?

I wear a 6.5B.

So, after receiving more text messages from the guy from match, including one where he said his niece really wanted me to go out with him again, I agreed. I told him I'd do it for the children.

I neglected to mention that you all voted and I heeded your call. That seems like more of a third date conversation. "Uh, yeah. I don't make any major life decisions without input from my blog readers."

It'll just be our little secret, m'kay? Thank you for your kind words!

So, I went on a sixth date with Mr. Interwebnets last night. During that date, I received two text messages and one voicemail - from three different guys from match. Now, don't worry - I only checked my phone after the date. I'm not totally uncouth. But I'm a bit befuddled - Mr. Interwebnets told me that after our first date (yes, a month ago), he'd had a first date scheduled with another woman from match. And he'd cancelled it, based on our great first date.

Meanwhile, my jaw was on the ground and my phone was vibrating away in my purse.

I am not this coordinated. And I'm not a hussy. I'm terrified.

I truly like Mr. Interwebnets. I am totally the dude in this relationship, though - he's all "I am so happy!" and I'm all "I like you, but don't ask too much about what I'm doing Wednesday night."

I feel bad. But at no point has there been any conversation about exclusivity. And this is the first time in my life (with the exception of those six days in college) when I've truly played the field. It's pretty fun.

But mostly? Mostly, I'm terrified that the more Mr. Interwebnets gets to know me, the closer we get to That Thing That Will Make Him Realize He Doesn't Like Me - whatever that is. And I'm terrified that that's my focus, not, oh, say, figuring out how I feel about him. I'm terrified that as he was saying all these nice things to me last night, my gut reaction was "Ok, how am I supposed to act now?" Like I'm a show dog or something.

Or maybe one of those monkeys who play the cymbals. You know, the ones who wear fezzes?

Anyway. I think I'm looking at this all sorts of wrong. I shouldn't be looking at it as what's expected of me, and how everybody else feels. I need to be looking at it as me, shopping. Which, really, I'm rather skilled at, especially if we're talking shoes. I need to be drawing from my natural talents and apply them to this situation.

So, basically, I'm trying on shoes.

Vote early and vote often!

So. Text messaging totally changes dating.

The guy I went out with once last week? And then told he was awesome, but more awesome for someone else?

He texted me yesterday: RU sure we're not a match? Bc I just sat thru like my third uncomfortable match date since what i thought was a very comfortable time with U

Hmm.

I responded today: 3 dates in a week? Damn, playa! I do think we are friends ... otherwise we'd kill each other. As your friend, I will suggest you change your match pic - youre much cuter than that :)

Really?

Yup.

Hmm. Well, thank U 4 the suggestion ... I'll see what I can do. But yeah these bad dates are killing me. I've only had one that I've actually enjoyed!

But 3 dates in a week? You must be doing something right. Look at it as practice.

I must be - and that's with my current pic. Practice schmatice ... I've already met the coolest funniest and attractive chick

And then? I didn't respond. I've been in meetings allllll damn day. He kept texting, though.

Text 5: Could I get a second chance if I agreed to babysit your dogs while u go out on a date? Wait ... scratch that ... bad idea. What if I offered to take them to the dog park?

Text 6: U could even come along!

Text 7: Ok, how about a Smithwick's at a local bar? Or dinner at your fav restaurant? I could bust out my A game. And I could pay U to go. Wait ... scratch that.

Ok, kids. Worth a second chance? Or just getting scary? It's the end of a long week and my decisionmaking skillz are worn thin.