Right up until they join forces and overthrow me...

I want a Roomba.

I’ve never wanted one before. I’ve heard that they work best on floors and don’t do much to pull up cat fur. I live in a mostly-carpeted house with my two cats, Senor Sheds-a-Lot and Missy La Dumps-Her-Fur.

They’re still pretty expensive, and I’m sure if I held out eventually they’d drop down to nothing. Heck, some day they’ll probably be disposable and you’ll get them from those machines at the door of the grocery store. “Gumball or Roomba… Gumball or Roomba… Hmmm….”

Given that eventually we’ll all be conquered and dominated by the robots I’m not sure it makes sense to bring yet another one into the house. I’m already having to keep a close eye on my TiVO and my digital camera. (No, I’m not worried about my computer. It’s a Mac. We all know they are generous of heart and noble of spirit. When the robots make their move I’m gonna seek sanctuary at Apple headquarters.)

And yet, as of right now, I want a Roomba. Why? I give you Exhibit A:

Because now I can blame YOU guys!

You foolish, foolish people… Why do you encourage me the way you do? (Oh, and by the way? LOVE YOU FOR THE ENCOURAGING THE WAY YOU DO! Many E-Smooches for the comments on the last post! And to those of you who have not yet commented on this post, let me just tell you that commenting will make you feel minty fresh AND will unlock the secrets of getting into some kind of E-Heaven. I’m just sayin…) Thanks to Bridget and the Anonymous but OH SO WIZE AND CLEVER commenter I’m gonna keep going. Because I might spin a tale! Because I deserve happiness! But mostly because otherwise Bridget will stop reading. (mean!)

So when last we saw our heroin she had completed all of the official E-Melody assignments. Multiple choice questions and “how much I hate these things” vs. “how much I hate anyone who ISN’T these things” and then essay questions (which, by the way, I’m pretty sure I totally aced! I feel really good about the essay portion of my exam! I used some excellent SAT words, like “illusory” and “obfuscate”, and I demonstrated a connection between my personality and the mythic beauty of Helen of Troy.) and now? NOW?

Now “Mr. Carl is taking his turn to read Dr. Warren's open communication message and send you his first message.”

Apparently if you get through all the gates and tunnels and adventurous other communication-challenges you get lectured by some guy. Also? I don’t get to read the lecture until Mr. Carl is done reading the lecture and sending me his first message. Like this knowledge is too valuable to give to both of us. Like they have just the one copy of the lecture-knowledge, and I can’t see it until Mr. Carl is done, and also please don’t fold or crease the knowledge and don’t write in the margins because we need it to be in good condition for the next folks.

Fmeh.

Now I don’t know if I’m allowed to share the special, magical Dr. Warren knowledge with you guys. It’s possible that I’ll be required to sign a bunch of legal documents swearing me to secrecy and saying that if I DO share the knowledge I have to give E-Melody something important like my driver’s license. Or a kidney.

(If I share the special, magical knowledge of wove and womance and “how to please your man!” and they make me give up a kidney I’m sure one of you wonderful, encouraging readers will give me one of yours, right?)

From wanna-be-Dooce to possible-Douche

First let me just say that I would like to be Dooce when I grow up. Or Joss Jackson. Or Amalah. I would like to be any of these people who write blogs that are beloved by many, and also who are super-amusing writers (and if you are NOT reading their blogs, and you ARE reading MY blog I have to tell you both MMMMMMWAH – KISSES OF LOVE AND GRATITUDE!!!! and also ARE YOU MAAAAAAAAD????? GO RIGHT NOW AND READ THEIR BLOGS! ALL OF THEM! AND READ BACK IN TIME AND ESPECIALLY THAT FUNNY ONE THEY WROTE THE OTHER DAY! (any of them. It doesn’t matter. They all wrote something funny the other day – it’s guaranteed. That’s how good their blogs are)) I would like to be someone who can take/find/make the time to write many times a week (and here’s the big stuff) and HAVE NO DAY JOBS AND HAVE SUPER-INTERESTING THINGS HAPPEN TO THEM ALL THE TIME ABOUT WHICH THEY CAN WRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITE!!!!!

In other words: I apologize that my lame life is so very lame, to the point where I have to talk myself out of writing about the funny color my poop was the other day simply because it was the most uniquely-noteworthy thing for that day. (but to be fair? Green. It was green. I’m just sayin’…)

Sometimes I see fancy photography magazines where they have this big multi-page spreads of amazing photos of vintage architecture in Venice, Italy or tremendous waterfalls in Australia or lions on the prowl in the Serengetti and these pictures are breathtaking. But of COURSE they are! I think to myself “Heck, I could take breathtaking photos of fancy old houses or waterfalls or lions if I were in these places too!” (me? Petty and envious? NONSENSE! And also gimme your cookie!)

I’m having the same thoughts about these amazing bloggers that I love and read and who’s lives I covet. Because if I were a famous author I would probably get to go to New York and have exciting parties and rat sightings to write about! If I were a super-successful, and sometimes controversial, professional, full-time blogger surrounded by the conservative capital of the nation I could have a fabulous meet-and-greet, IN LOS ANGELES NO LESS, to which I could invite my millions of readers! If I were a brand new mommy I’d have heart-touching stories about my brand new baby and the birthing of same to share!

OK, but then I know what you’ll say next (because I know you, my favorite e-friends so well! And also because you’re MOSTLY imaginary and in my brain); you’ll say “hello??? Matches on E-Melody??? There’s something you could be writing about!! BE WRITING ABOUT THAT PLEASE!!!!” And mostly you’d be absolutely correct. Heck, that’s pretty much 75% of the reason I even do the online match thing! “Lo!” I think, “I will join and I will get matches and I will regale my e-friends with the hilarious and the absurd and “oh my god, can you believe he wrote THIS???” and we will laugh, and laugh, and laugh… good times.”

Here’s the thing though: Mr. Carl might be actually in to this.

Seriously, he responds really fast! Like when I get a question I take a day or two to think about the reply. Sometimes several days. Often a week… But not Mr. Carl. I sent him my three new questions and he replied back in a couple of days! And these aren’t multiple-choice, “click a box” responses this time. We’ve apparently progressed to the essay questions, where you have to craft words together into a paragraph-type answer. These take some level of thought. And he saw the questions I sent and did the thinking and replied right away! RIGHT AWAY!

Which frankly? Is freaking me out.

What is with the enthusiasm, dude? Same time, man, same time -- you don’t know me! (and here’s where the “what ifs” show up) What if he’s chomping at the bit for WOVE? What if he’s looking for wove and mawwiage and all that stuff and FAST, FAST, FAST??? What if he’s thinking “soon there will be dates and love and everything will be SOOO perfect, because E-Melody has assured me that we’re a match. And if it’s on the internet it can’t be wrong” And what if he’s thinking that I’m thinking these thinks too? And what if I’m mostly thinking “ok, I should probably go answer the questions from Mr. Carl so that we can get to the next step in case the next step is chocked full of high-larity, about which I can blog.”

What I’m saying is this: If he’s doing it for the possible wove and I’m doing it for the blogging, does that make me a complete rat bastard? Because while I love me some writing, I don’t want to be stomping on anyone’s feelings in the process.

Your thoughts? Anyone? Anyone?

Next I'll ask Keith to just write all my posts. Because GO KEITH!

One of things I was MOST excited about last Tuesday night was that all the politics, politics, POLITICS was going to finally settle down. Seriously, I've been afraid to answer my phone or the front door for months because 50% of the time I was greeted by someone eager to tell me why I ABSOLUTELY MUST VOTE AGAINST/FOR THE LOVE OF GOD VOTE FOR (RANDOM PERSON, BALLOT MEASURE OR PROPOSITION) OR ELSE WE WILL ALL DIIIIIIEEEEEE!!!!!! My region votes by mail and it's great because once you figure out what you're voting for/against you can send it away and put a little sign on your front door that says "I've already voted" so that the voting police will leave you alone. (or if you're a sneaky, under-handed person you might even put the sign on your door as soon as the ballots arrive in the mail -- they don't know!)

So I awoke Wednesday to a fabulous, politics-pushing-free-zone. Revel in the lack of people wanting to tell me how to think and feel about things and stuff! Whee! What's that, automated phone message? You want to help me with my mortgage rates (a tricky thing, since I rent) or extend my car's warranty (which it's never had) or sell me satellite tv (HA!!!)? Go right ahead! Sell me and get me and extend me! Just so long as you don't want to talk about voting I'll even let you give me a longer schlong.

And then I read the E-paper, about how my good friends the citizens of California got together to present a group "F*ck You!" to the gay population of the state. And I said to myself "Oh Balls. Guess nobody called the Californians and told them how to vote."

First things first: I am opposed to the idea of Prop 8 or anything that says to a sub-section of our nation (or world) "you do not have the right to make a legal, official life with the person you love." I'm appalled that so many states decided to exercise their rights to be small-minded and selfish and petty and just generally wrong. The whole thing is tragic and stupid and other snarky, irritated and frustrated-because-I-didn't-have-any-chance-to-vote-AGAINST-it things. But rather than me tell you my feelings I'd like to continue the wave of general praise for Keith Olbermann which is sweeping across the internets and just let him tell you my feelings. Because what he is about to say? Yeah. Hell Yeah.

Tell 'em, Keith:



(thanks, thanks and more thanks to The Queen and the brilliant pop culture pundits at www.mamapop.com for clueing me on to this.)

battle of the bulge, Part Four - weight loss through hate and office products

So I’ve been battling (sort of) and so far my triumphs can be described thusly: I’ve lost a grand total of something like half a pound. And also my soul has been wrung completely dry of all soulful moisty goodness. SO HUNGRY. This, for me, is extremely frustrating because I feel like the last two months have been all about me trying to eat the less bad-for-me foods and less of those food anyway and also trying to find ways to exercise, exercise, exercise. And all this for ½ a pound.

Part of my trouble is my magical and unstoppable metabolism. My metabolism is both sneaky and brilliant, and responds to change almost instantly. I change my foods from those yummy, fatty and deep-fried to their lite ™ and helthi (also ™) cousins and it confuses the systems for a day or two, sure. But by the end of the week the metabolism is on to me and it’s found a way to leech rolly-polly pounds from the Lean Pocket and the sliced apple. So I cut back on the number of apple slices and have only ½ of the English muffin and only 1 taco for dinner rather than 2. And of course the scale drops initially, but once again my danged metabolism figures it out, and even the working out it out-smarts! “Go ahead!” says Mr. Metabolism, “tap your little heart out! Bike to work three times a day if you want! Do your puny little sit-ups! You can’t stop me!!” And then it converts my bone marrow into a new chin.

To make matters worse, I have friends like Risky and the King, who have the good witch Glenda metabolism to my Wicked Metabolism of the West. My friends are related to each other in such a way as to allow them to share their metabolistic traits, which work like this:

Eat a King-Sized Snickers and two bags of Doritos per day + blink your eyes eleven times = drop a pant size, step out of your over-big shoes, become invisible when turned profile. How I hate them.

Case in point: Risky has always been the tall, willowy type with the porcelain skin and the curly, black hair, even in Jr. High School. And yet it was around then that she introduced me to Annual Pig Out Day (which you and I call “Fourth of July”) The way she chose to celebrate had less fireworks and more bopping down to the 7-11 to purchase GOBS of junkfood: chocolate and chips and ice cream and fabulous Hostess creations and even just thinking about the piles of food has caused one of my arteries to completely close – pardon me for a minute as I self-CPR me back to life.

Clear…

Anyway, Risky took a day and ate, ate, ATE and when the dust settled guess how many pounds she gained. GUESS! Do you have a guess? Does your guess start with “not a danged pound” and end with “and so I killed her dead!”? Because if it does you’d totally be right! (except for the killing her part. But I think totally wanting to kill her counts. Also the wanting could be aerobic, so…)

Where was I going with this again? Oh, right! The hate. The searing, seething but apparently not at all fat-burning hate…

Right now the King mocks me and my sad, all-too-human metabolism with his biking to work. He bikes to work once a day, and then also bikes home also once a day. For a grand total of two trips a day, about 40 minutes of biking per day. (when exactly did my blog posts become word problems?) I bike to and from work TWICE a day, taking almost 50 minutes of biking time. And he loses weight! And I lose nothing! NOTHING! GAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!

So here’s the plan for this, the last month of the Battle of the Bulge:
Eat nothing but salad greens, sunflower seeds and reams of copy paper. (roughage)
Stop driving completely and instead walk EVERYWHERE, and always uphill
Channel my hate of my skinny friends to my thighs and tuckas, utilizing it’s fiery hotness to burn away calories.

I SHALL PREVAIL!!

EDITED TO ADD: Did I mention that The Queen now has her own blog? Did ? Because she totally does! And on it she will tell you how she is attempting to win the battle of the bulge. So you can go there to read what she has to say, and then you can come back here and wonder how the hell I don't just explode from all the Strawberry Poptarts. Sigh.

Pants-wearing optional, racism a deal-breaker and other shocking developments...

So I know that I’ve never gone this far w/ a match on E-Melody before because I’m only just now beginning to think that this feels a lot like school. Like “falling in love homework” Like E-Melody is some online teacher who keeps sending me home with a new assignment. “Very nice job on your first three questions – solid B+. Now before our next class please search your soul and bring me a dozen things that you cannot live without, as well as another dozen things that you just cannot stand.” Because after there are questions and more questions then there are the Must Haves and the Can’t Stands.

Also I have to say this particular exercise just seems silly. I mean if you explained to me the various steps to finding Twoo Wove via onlineness this one would have seemed sound – compare those things that you either really must have in a mate (needs to have a head – neck-onlys need not apply!) as well as those things that you really cannot abide (anybody who shoots snot rockets really should die alone! I’m serious!) But then when you get to this step it seems silly! Because it’s not these kind of unique things, but instead it’s stuff that I have to categorize as “Ummm, DUH!”

The good news, though, was that I apparently created my list when I set up the initial profile, so at least this step was EASY. I went through the list, which I made almost 2 years ago and which I honestly don’t remember making, and can’t really even be sure I did make, because although I agree with the list WHO WOULDN’T????

Minor tangent: I’m sorry so many of the recent posts are so listy. I read them later and I cringe with all the listiness, and I promise myself that there will be no more posts which are just me telling you EVERYTHING TO THE LAST DETAIL of what E-Melody is like. Guh. But I’m sorry, I cannot seem to avoid it this time either. But next time I will! I promise! If the next blog post is all listfull you can go ahead and… read it and love it and tell your friends? Please don't go away...

Examples of things that I can’t live without include:

Emotionally Healthy: I must have a partner who is emotionally healthy, and able to share a stable life with someone else. (Not me, I want someone who can’t make it through a coffee commercial without sobbing and who insists that I enter the room backwards just in case he can’t face me at that moment.)
Communicator: I must have someone who is good at talking and listening. (Wait, talking AND listening? Where DUST THOU get these impossible expectations? I suppose you want someone who can both chew AND swallow too, eh? Ridiculous!)
Loyal: must have someone I can count on to always support me. (Or, failing that, please don’t make faces behind my back when I’m talking at parties. Or at least let me come in to the parties, rather than sitting in the car. Or at least let me get in the car. Instead of the trunk. This time.)
Spirit of Volunteerism: must have a partner who shares my willingness to volunteer and support community and/or social causes. (…ok, I have no response to this one. I seriously don’t remember picking this one. But I guess I’d better start volunteering and supporting community and/or social causes. …crap.)
Kindness: I must have a partner who is gentle and kind. (WHO WOULD NOT WANT THIS? This has to have been an “ok, I'm out of other options, guess I’ll pick the “kind” one. It’s either this one or “generally likes to wear pants when out of the house.”)

…The Can’t Stand options were much the same, and rather than my listing them let me nutshell it by telling you that I’m apparently not willing to date someone who is a boorish, depressed, mean-spirited, arrogant racist. And apparently you need to stipulate this. Because apparently there are some women out there who WANT THESE THINGS? Who are these women? And do they really need to spend $50 a month to go online and FIND these things? Are the boorish, depressed, mean-spirited, arrogant racist men of the world really such rare, precious gems that you have to search and search and search for? REEEAAALLLYYY????

I sent him my lists, because that was the current homework assignment, and in about 2-3 days he sent me HIS lists. And again to not list things I will nutshell it and say that he is ALSO looking for an emotionally healthy, kind and funny communicator, and especially does not want to date a lying, cheating, arrogant, foul-mouthed racist. (gosh, I wonder where all the racists go to find love? Is there an E-Purity website out there somewhere?)

And now I have a new assignment: sending YET MORE QUESTIONS. But we’ll cover that next. For now I have to go tell the other 10 guys that I’m already dating some story about my not being awesome enough for them (ha!) so that they’ll go the f*ck away. (good thing I’m not racist.)

Yes I Can? Really?

Is it me or is it really hopey around here these days? (and by “here” I mean the nation. And by “these days” I mean mostly since Tuesday) For the most part I don’t do the politics thing here, but I’ll go ahead and fly my flag for a minute: I’m one of the people who was HAPPY about the outcome of this most recent election. And if you need a why let me just say because we have hit ROCK BOTTOM, people, and no matter what we need something really different. Though it is trite, I’ll go ahead and drop the new party line: we need us some serious CHANGE.

Now it looks like we may get some. Yay!

As such, the concept of change has been heavy in the air, like crappy cousin Chip’s fajita farts in the communal tent. With so much talk of change everywhere to you look how do you not look inward and think about your own capacity for change? Answer: you don’t.

And so I must confess that for the first time in years and years I find myself thinking that it MIGHT be possible that I indulge in partnership.

DO NOT FREAK OUT. I haven’t met anyone or seen anyone or even had a sex dream or anything. We’re just being conceptual right now. We’re shooting the sh*t, we’re throwing around ideas, we’re raising something up the flag to see if anyone sets it on fire. But even just the act of me leaving this option open is a little huge. Because despite the online dating and the speed dating and the thousands of wooooooooooords spent on this pursuit in the last 2 years, I’ll be brutally honest and tell you I’ve not once actually expected anything to come of it. Igloos by Satan’s beach house and pigs with pilot’s licenses have seemed as likely.

But this week, while contemplating all the possible changes I could make on my life I actually entertained the idea that there had been some massive, scifi-scale shift in the fabric of reality. And that maybe there’s a person out there up to the challenge?

Interesting.

(also I’m going to start bathing, go back to wearing a bra and I’m going to stop ending every sentence with “and like dat dere…” It’s a brand new day dawning, people!)

(and like dat dere…)

Q & A. Or actually A and Q.

I answered questions. I am a question answerer. Erer. Er.

The Question Man we will now call Mr. Carl. For no reason other than I’m sitting here watching a NASCAR race and the guy for whom I’m cheering is Carl and so Mr. Carl it is. Mr. Carl asked me 5 questions, as is the way they roll at E-melody. His questions were these:

1) What kind of exercise do I prefer?
I wanted to say that I prefer to not need exercise, and to be skinny and pert anyway. I wanted to say that I prefer to go dancing with fabulous packs of fierce homofexuals, no boyfriends allowed. I wanted to say that I would vote for any presidential candidate who can promise me a completely exercise-free method to be both trim and also fit. But that seemed like a lot of crazy right up front, and also you shouldn’t talk politics on the first ‘date’. So instead I told him that I’m a tap dancer. Because he should get at least a little of the crazy up front, right?

2) My idea of a romantic time would be:
OK, so this is tricky because I don’t respond well to the idea of a romantic time. I tend to roll my eyes and bite my lip and here my own voice yelling “lame!! Laaaaaame!!!” at each lighted candle and Celine Dion song. But didn’t we just decide that the crazy needed to be spread out over time? So I simply told him “You show me your favorite movie and I’ll show you mine.” Because just saying “show me yours and I’ll show you mine” was dangerous.

3) What style of dress do I prefer?
Danger, Will Robinson! Of the 4 pre-crafted answers I could pick from I decided “I dress for the occasion” was sufficiently non-committal. I’m hoping that, inspired by my answer to number 1, he’ll picture me in white tails and top hat, black cane and surrounded by Busby Berkely girls.

4) Would I rather date someone who is:
This question is one I have also sent, because it touches on the issue of time. How much time do you want? How much time will you need? If I never have any time for you at all will you WHINE ABOUT IT? I told Mr. Carl that I would prefer someone who is busy, with a structured scheduled, where I would know what days they will be available for fun. Mostly because he’d better be looking for someone just like that. Because I have an important blog to write, and he’s gonna have to wait his turn!

5) How often do I find myself laughing?
This is where I get a danged trophy for NOT answering “every time I read the profiles of dudes who match me on E-Melody!” I was swimming in self control. I was careful and forward thinking, and I, as it turns out, was not going to sabotage things instantly after all! After such impressive willpower I felt I should immediately go to the living room and eat every last bit of Halloween candy in the bowl. But first I needed to give Mr. Carl some kind of answer, so I picked the almost-honest “I crack myself up!”

Once I sent these answers to Mr. Carl I was then instructed to send him some of my own questions. I was there, the mountain was showing me it’s big, mountainy butt as if to say “bet you can’t climb me!” so I capitalized on my momentum and 5 sent questions:

1) When in a relationship, how much personal space do you generally find you need?
Most questions have 4 answers to pick from, plus the option of "other" and you write in your own response. The options for this question were:
- I don’t need personal space; I like together time.
- time spent at work is enough personal time and I wanna spend the rest of the time with my partner.
- I just need one night a week of personal time and the rest with my partner
- when I’m with my partner I’m completely there, but I do need personal time for reflection
Sadly, this is a trick question because none of these work for me. I’m looking for that one guy out of twenty who writes “look, I’ll call you when I call you. Back off, will you? YOU’RE SMOTHERING ME!!!”

2) Which of the following scenarios would make you more nervous?
- making a presentation in front of 500 people (because apparently I’m looking for someone not afraid to start a pyramid scheme?)
- taking a long car ride with someone you just met. (isn’t this how most episodes of “Without a Trace” begins?)
- talking about your biggest fears with your lover. (Or being involved with someone who wants you to call them “your lover.” Ech.)
- meeting with the president of your company (…ok, that has potential for being scary…)

3) On Saturday night, would you rather go to:
I won’t even give you the options here, because the only bad answer would be if they wrote in “bed.” (unless they mean it in the dirty way. Except that would be “ew!”, so I’m still opposed to the answer “bed”.)

4) What is your opinion of traditional gender roles?
OK, if you’re a guy this has to seem like a complete trap, right? And it is! Instead of the normal 4 possible answers this one just has 3, and they’re basically “loves me some Donna Reed!”, “loves me some Sarah Connor” or “pass.”

5) Outside of a romantic relationship, are you competitive?
Translation: can I play RISK with you or not?

I sent these questions to Mr. Carl, and since I was on a productivity roll I sent them to all 4 of the other matches too. Lookit me, sending questions out like I’m actually looking for wove. Who IS this woman?