I like Monday.

When I was in eighth grade, my parents took me to see a tour of South Pacific, starring Robert Goulet. We waited by the stage door and my star-struck 13-year-old self got autographs from all of the actors.

And we waited.

Finally, his royal highness Robert Goulet appeared. A big group of women had waited for him to show up, and he signed autographs for each and every one.

I was intimidated, and I guess I mumbled when he asked my name so that he could personalize the autograph.

"Your name is DUCKIE?" he bellowed at me.

I wanted to die of embarrassment. I corrected him, and he gave me my autographed program. I was beet red, but I had been bellowed at by a legend. Ok.

I love Will Ferrell, but I must admit that his Goulet impressions leave me leary - be gentle with Goulet! If ever he would leave you, it wouldn't be in summer, you know.

So, I've been loving the recent Emerald Nuts campaign featuring Goulet. The TV spots of Goulet going in and messing with people's stuff during the 3 p.m. energy lull are a hoot. However, I came across their online presence, and OMG.

Emerald Nuts, I tip my hat to you. You've done it up right. Your creativity and fearlessness will surely be rewarded.

And my dear, sweet Goulet? My love for you grows greater every day. Good for you for being in on the joke and introducing a whole new audience to your awesomeness in the process.

Get the hell out of Dodge.

On of my mommyblogger friends recommended True Mom Confessions.

If you have kids and need a breather, you’ll like it.

One of the confessions listed today:

I told my husband I wanted a divorce and he told me if I ever left him he would kill me because I was not going to take the kids.

Ohhhh.

At first, I felt sick.

And then, I thought, “So, how do you respond to that? ‘Oh, ok, honey,’ and then scheme and save and get the hell out?”

And then, I felt a knot in the deepest recesses of my gut.

I know now why I don’t want kids.

It was so hard to get out by myself. How would I ever get out with kids?

The paparazzi's flash is blinding

Today was Maintenance Day for the geriatric poodle. He had a day of beauty at the spa. And he had his monthly eye check with the vet. The vet with whom I am secretly in lurve.

Dear Dr. Vet:
I know you are old enough to be my dad and drive a decidedly unmasculine purple pick-up, but I am enamored with you and have been for the last six years even though I know it would never work out between us but I don't care because I lurve you.
Lurve,
Cha Cha

What were we talking about again?

The eyes. Right.

They're bad. The pressures aren't improving, and the cataracts continue to march forward. My sweet little baby is going blind.

This isn't a surprise. But still makes me a bit sad. Except ... he's such a happy dog. I hardly think that he's becoming depressed as his eyesight diminishes. He still jumps around every morning like a puppy in that "OMG! It's morning! And we get to go out in the yard! And then get a treat! This is the best!" sort of way. The only difference now is that he runs into the coffee table as he jumps around.

So, I guess we're ok.

I had to laugh, tho. Dr. Vet took the kid in the back for the eye test, and when he came back, he reported that I am famous - so famous that my dog is one of the vet tech's roommate's cell phone wallpaper.

Got that? Good.

In other words, this pup has been seen for so many different things that they all know him and love him and he's quite the popular dude. I'm really more of his chauffeur than anything else. And really, I'm down with that. I'm lucky.

Well, how did I get here, part deux

The eHarmonizing is ok. I've traded questions with one dude. Based on five extremely basic questions like "What's your ideal date?," he doesn't seem like a serial killer. Yet.

It's just surreal. I'm "getting to know" someone by asking if they'd prefer Paris or Hawaii as a vacation destination. How the hell did this happen?

In a moment of self-indulgence, I checked out He Who Shall Not Be Named's match.com profile. He's added some new pictures, including one of a golden retriever puppy sitting on a chair.

Now, I am allllll about the canines. I love me some dogs. But this particular adorable pup with fluffy fur and Princess Di eyes?

I am indifferent.

The pup is sitting in a chair in my old living room. And I look at this photo and think, "I bought that cushion and that pillow. The cushion came from Target. I don't remember where I got the pillow, but it used to be on the couch with those velour pillows..."

And now I'm seeing my former living room as a staging area for dating site photos for the man that I once thought was my soul mate.

I honestly don't think I'm hung up on him. I know it's time to really get back into the dating pool, and I think I can really give this a shot. But it's surreal.

The entire experience of online dating is so opposite of what I knew before. There are no drunken fraternity parties online. 65 of my very best sorority sisters aren't there. I'm alone. And the one person I who I thought would be around is plagiarizing my flair for home decor as he attempts to sell himself as some ad exec / triathlete superman.

Puhleez.

I like Monday.

This week, I like Monday is all about my love of cheesy 80s movies and my love of animals.

My all-time guiltiest of guilty pleasures is Flashdance. "I want ... so much!" The dialogue is horrible, the plot is completely implausible, and the music is one giant cliche.

In other words, Flashdance is celluloid perfection.

Another strong contender in the race for Cha Cha's cheesiest 80s movie is The Karate Kid. Tell me you don't laugh at and completely appreciate any dude who dresses as a shower for Halloween. Brilliant!

I also like animals, right? I prefer dogs, but have been known to appreciate any cat who doesn't get all up in my grill to share allergic goodness.

So. Combine the 80s cheese factor and a cat. Turn up the sound. And prepare to be dazzled.

You're the best! Around!

I can't touch bottom

I've been on eHarmony for exactly 19 hours and I have already learned that you must be rather pragmatic about online dating.

I've had communication closed by four of my 12 matches. Two said they are pursuing other relationships. One said he didn't feel the chemistry. (These are canned responses - I guess you get to pick one when you close communication.) The fourth said "Other."

Other?

I'm assuming it's because this guy is 6'9". I'm 5'3".

So "Other" means "you're too damn short."

My last boyfriend was 6'6", so it's not like I'm afraid of people who block the sun, or that I haven't mastered the art of getting it on with someone who is a foot and a half taller than me. But I guess it's a good thing that Mr. Other isn't stringing me along. Or something like that.

This whole process terrifies me just a bit. I filled out the questionnaire and I posted a photo. But I'm waiting for one of my matches to contact me. Not because I'm old fashioned. But because it took a lot to get me into the pool, and at this point, I don't think it's crazy to wait for someone else to start the splashing.

I am Linus Larrabee.

Last night was Big Stoopid Gala, for which I have been volunteering for the last three years. This year, one of the co-chairs was a dude 27 going on 70, and frankly, it's a miracle that I didn't kill him. Last night, my marketing co-chair and I went to the event as friends, basked a tish in the glory of an event that went off well, and tried not to guffaw when the insane co-chair started talking about next year.

Dude, it will be a cold day in hell before I volunteer for this event again. Cheers!

We had a fun group at our table, including The Old Guy, a gentleman whom I dated briefly a year ago and who told me on our first day that his sister told him he was required to tell me that his divorce wasn't final. Umm, ok. I like him a lot, but wasn't terribly attracted to him, and he had a lot of emotional baggage he was toting around. I have dinner with him every few months now and it's always fun, but I'm glad that we're just friends.

Very long and dull story short, The Old Guy ended up totally hooking up with a very obnoxious sorority sister of mine last night. In a very obnoxious way.

On one hand, more power to them both.

On the other hand, geez, thanks a lot. Because I am conceited like that.

And I'm lonely. And I want to be adored and adore someone right back. And I am so very, very afraid.

My marketing co-chair is very handsome and super funny and by all accounts, a terrific catch. We sat in my driveway and talked for about five minutes when he dropped me home, and then I went inside. And while I was brushing my teeth, I thought, "Well, how would that have worked? Would I have asked him to come inside? He would have laughed at me. And if you invite someone inside, does that automatically mean the dirty deed? Or can you invite someone inside for some necking on the couch and then tell them to hit the road? And I went to this rather fun party tonight and now I feel like crap, and what's that all about?"

I had forgotten about the awkwardness and the fear of meeting someone new. And yet I know it's time. I have no clue what I'm doing, but whatever it is, I know it's time to do it. Funny thing, life seems to be going on all around me, regardless of whether I decide to get with the program or not. I'm missing out.

I have a life's work. I just don't have a life.