In which I am an idiot over a dachshund.

Foxie Doxie makes me crazy. He barks at everyone and everything. Walking him is a nightmare, as no amount of leash training can contain his urge to run like a maniac. He eats bunny droppings and sheds like it’s an Olympic sport.

You want one, don’t you?

But here’s the thing. He has the silkiest ears in the whole world. And he perches on his hind legs like a freakin’ meerkat when he wants your attention – sometimes with his tongue barely sticking out. The cuteness is almost unbearable.

This morning, I walked into the bedroom to see a little round lump in the middle of the bed. Because he’s like his mama, Foxie Doxie is not a morning person. He had gone back to bed – under the covers, natch.

When he heard me walk in the room, I heard the “thump, thump, thump” of his tail. He crawled out just so his head was exposed and he collapsed from the stress of it all. He did, however, summon the strength to kiss me.

Dammit. I love this dog.

Introducing my new starting line-up.

So, Mr. eHarmony has pretty much rocked my world. Not only did he take me to a KICK-ASS REO Speedwagon show last night, but over the last four months, he's pretty much turned my brain and my heart to mush.

Yes, I have become that girl. I am embarrassed for myself. And yet? And yet, I can't stop mooning over him. I will spare you the gooey details, but let's just say he's wonderful and I'm over the moon.

It's been a huge adjustment. He's normal. And he's around a lot. This significantly cuts down on the time that I am free to mope around my house and ponder how I could have possibly seen every episode of Dog the Bounty Hunter that's on my DVR. It also cuts down on my free time.

So, right now, Mr. eHarmony is chillin' with his daughter. I was invited along, but originally had other plans, which fell through. So, it's Saturday. And I can do anything I want. And I am fucking clueless as to what that would be.

I know that I need some alone time. I had just forgotten how uncomfortable I am with free time. Suddenly, it's all coming back to me.

I do need a little time to zone out and digest a few important developments. Like, the realization that Mr. eHarmony likes me. All the time. Not just "Acceptable and Perhaps Even Entertaining in Social Situations Cha Cha." He also appears to like "Tired and Totally Crabby Cha Cha - Now With JBF Hair!" and "Ask Me That Question One More Time and I Will Kill You Cha Cha."

With the exception of my sainted parents, who are required by law to love me unconditionally at all times whether they like it or not, I've never experienced this. Like, he likes me for my true self, even when it's not pretty. Even when I don't believe him. Even when I try to push him away because obviously he's lying, right?

People, I have won the fucking lottery.

I'm in shock - which, I think, is a fair reaction when riches beyond your wildest dreams fall from the sky and land on your front porch. He seems rather bemused by my reaction. I'm obviously a little slow on the uptake, but I'm starting to get it.

Oh my god.

So, this is obviously more than the "I just want someone to take to the movies" aiming-low-so-I'm-not-disappointed goal that I had when I started online dating. This is obviously turning into more of a long-term relationship.

So, let's call a spade a spade. Mr. eHarmony has outgrown his moniker. Let's call him Mr. Wonderful and just be done with it. I'm head over heels in love with him.

Why I could never be Amish.

Or, how I realized the Amish probably don't have access to and/or believe in the use of depilatory cream.

Today at the farmer's market, I saw an Amish woman with a full-on, black mustache.

I understand that in the grand scheme of things, sporting a 'stache for your religious beliefs is pretty minor. It's not like being burned at the stake. However ... I have a hard time believing that God a) cares about your personal hygiene habits; and b) wouldn't just pull you aside and be all, "Girl, let's take care of that."

File this post under Why Cha Cha is Going to Hell.

A conversation with Mr. eHarmony.

eHarmony: I hope you don’t mind that I’m around all the time and you don’t have time to do all the stuff you like to do – you know, like working and watching Dog the Bounty Hunter.

Cha Cha: Uh? Ohmygod, you’re right. Those are my two hobbies. Workin’ for da man and watching a mulleted superhero pick up iceheads.

eHarmony: I’ve never actually watched Dog.

Cha Cha: Oh, promise me you’ll watch just one episode with me! It’s so fulfilling!

eHarmony: Of course! I want us to share the important things in life.

Dontcha feel like a little hula?

The good news is that my heart is now no longer two sizes too small. It's Thursday night before a three-day weekend, and my heart is exploding.

Superproductive day at work? Check.
Desperately needed haircut that smells like a cute man because my stylist was out of her usual girl gel? Check.
Wonderful boyfriend en route with dinner? Check.

Piddlyass crap at work is still falling apart. But really, none of it is earth-shatteringly important. And, My Favorite Miss America of All Time made me laugh out loud today. Seriously, people. Look at this talent and tell me that she didn't deserve to win. Ain't nobody's hips who deserve scholarship money more than Miss Michigan.

Seriously.

My heart is two sizes too small.

So, I just booked a beach-front condo. Mr. eHarmony and I are taking a fabulous long weekend in just 16 short days.

So, why do I feel like this?

I'm grouchy. Work is pissing me off for no good reason. Foxie Doxie rolls in something disgusting every single damn night, and so help me god, I don't want to give him a bath every 24 hours. It's too damn hot here to breathe. And, to add insult to injury ... I am almost out of roasted garlic Triscuits.

I know.

Today, I wrote a colleague that my frustration was finally exceeding my saint-like patience and that he should picture Mother Teresa, but with my face Photoshopped over hers.

I hope he knows I was kidding. Sort of.

I'm coming to the painful conclusion that there is no such thing as a slower time in my job. There's busy and superbusy.

That's ok. The hitch is that I need to decide for once and for all whether or not I'm going to let superbusy devour my soul. Or, if I'm going to own that I can be happy no matter what - even if it means giving up the self-serving fits of Grinchdom.

I do think that I'm way mellower about the entire thing that I was even a few months ago. I'm all growing and shit. But completely letting go of any pretense that I have control or that work is in any way the important part of my existence? Scaaaaaary.

Is it ok to start tomorrow? Will there be roasted garlic Triscuits?

And a very happy Monday to you, too.

So, the New Random Mail Guy approached my desk this morning, a basket of yellow daisies in his hand.

“Excuse me, are you Cha Cha?”

I eye the flowers. I am instantly thrilled and taken aback. “Yes.”

New Random Mail Guy eyes me with disdain. “These aren’t for you. They’re for Karen and she isn’t at her desk. Will you sign for them?”

Dear New Random Mail Guy,

You suck ass.

Love,
Cha Cha