To discuss what happens to that hour you're losing this weekend

The following is a product of both my crazy imagination and my long week... it's my movie trailer for Daylight Savings Time, in the event Hollywood scrapes the bottom of the idea barrel:

(Deep movie trailer voice)

In a world where different parts of a state can be in different time zones for no particular reason

In a place where Tivo pauses time

In a land where the Land Before Time can have 12 sequels that beg the question, Is it ever the Land During Time?

There are certain unexplained events that occur in our world twice a year. This spring, it's time for...

THE HOUR THIEF!

(Dramatic music) (Scene: Two young detectives survey a crime scene at a clock repair shop)
Natalie Portman (you're damn right I cast her in my trailer): The owner said he came to work today, and all the clocks had moved ahead one hour. He's worried someone stole an hour of his time, and he's also worried about choosing a trade in clock repair when no one uses a clock anymore.
James Van Der Beek (Joshua Jackson was busy): Such a shame (He pauses to check the time on his cell phone). Time is so valuable, we can't afford to lose it ... So let's play the next 30 minutes for the next 30 minutes, and leave it on the field. We have the opportunity to play like gods for the next ...

Natalie: (off script) ... James, James, hold on, you're going into your Varsity Blues monologue again.

James: Sorry. Yes, right ... (back to script) We must find out who is the culprit. Thousands of hung over college kids' slumber this weekend depends on it. This villain is like the Hamburgler, but he steals time instead of juicy patties.

Natalie: It's like he's an ...

(Dramatic music like in Grey's Anatomy when Meredith is getting all whimsical at the end of an episode)
Natalie: ... Hour Thief!

(Quentin Tarantino-ish splash of blood with clock parts flying everywhere)

James: If we don't find the Hour Thief soon, or by, say, this November, millions of people will be affected. They'll have to deal with an extra hour of daylight. The horror! And who knows what terrors await those who are unprepared ...

(Quick cut to two college kids doing it in the backseat of a car at 1:59 a.m. Sunday morning)

Boy: I can't believe we finally did this. I know you were worried after watching "16 and Pregnant," but that doesn't happen to people like us, right? Very Often. Frequently. Kinda all the time.

Girl: Baby, it was great ... but there's something I need to tell you, a secret that you haven't figured out yet, even after what we just did. If you just give me one minute to explain ...

(The boy is confused. The girl slowly reaches toward her long blond hair, and, shockingly, starts to pull it off like a wig, while at the same time she seems to be shifting the front of her pants)

Boy: What the hell is going ...

Quick flash. The boy is now sitting next to a gruff mountain man-type.

Boy: Wait, what just happened? Why is it 3 a.m. now? Where did that hour go? And what did you do with my girlfriend?

Mountain man: I've been explaining this for an hour now ... Now let's get freaky-deaky.

Boy: NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Voice over: Before you dare set your clock ahead this weekend, gird your loins for the Hour Thief. Coming to theaters this spring. Rated R for an awkward scene of mountain man sex and an unwarranted James Van Der Beek reference.

To discuss a DirecT(v) Swing and a Miss

The mint mask-covered face sums up several things:
1) I was surprised by what happened to me Sunday
2) I had time to do a facial, when I thought I would be busy with TV stuff
3) I'm losing my heterosexual credibility, but I swear, it was just one time because I was bored.

Last week, we all talked about whether I should dump my Comcast cable TV service, and get DirecTV, which would save me some money, get me HD, and screw over the evil cable company, but would also be a hassle and lock me into a two-year contract.

I weighed the pros and cons you all laid out. I did hours of my own research -- and I mean hours, too. I get hardcore into researching and debating major decisions, not unlike a psychotic person.

I decided to switch to DirecTV.

It almost didn't happen. Saturday night, I found out I had a 1-year contract with my Tivo DVR service, even though I was paying month-to-month after a previous contract ran out. That was going to make things more complicated, since I was getting a free HD DVR from DirecTV, but, sure, what the heck, let's stick with the plan.

Here's what happened Sunday:

7:55 A.M. DirecTV Dude calls to say he's almost there. I'm half-asleep and amazed that the 8 a.m.-12 p.m. window actually included arriving around 8, not the 3 p.m. you come to expect.
8:05 a.m. DirecTV Dude walks through my apartment to the back porch area, where, by my rental agreement, the dish needs to go.
8:05:30 a.m. Seconds later, after pointing his doo-hicky, he says there is no line of sight to the Southern sky or the Goddess of Rain or some business. The guy living on the second floor above me has DirecTV, but his dish points over the roof. Mine could only point at the building, basically. And with limited options allowed by my rental company, there was no other place to put the dish.
8:06 a.m. DirecTV Dude says, "So, I guess you're staying with cable."
8:07 a.m. I close the door on the dude, and look over to my right. That's where there is a mess of wires and a gaping hole where my Tivo and cable box were Saturday night, until I spent 20 minutes unhooking everything.
8:10 a.m. Call Capricorn. She later tells me she felt terrible for me because I sounded like someone kicked my puppy. My high-definition puppy.
10:30 a.m. Go to Best Buy just to look at the HDTVs they have hooked up. Consider stabbing a TV with a knife. Think better of it. Stab an employee in the face instead. Geek Squad scurries to stop the bleeding.
11:00 a.m. Spend the next couple of hours putting back together everything I had taken apart in two rooms. Considering I'm a bit of an A/V guy and I have a Tivo, audio/video receiver, the cable box and a bunch of speakers, there are more wires than in Lady Gaga's red carpet Grammy dress.
2 p.m. Exfoliated
3 p.m. Fortunately, I hadn't canceled Comcast just yet. I call them and say I'm, uh, having DirecTV come over later this week and this is their last chance to keep me (essentially, Comcast had become my back-up prom date). They respond by giving me 80 extra channels and faster Internet for the next 6 months for about $30 a month less than what I already pay for a lower package. After that, I can just go back to the lower package to avoid a major rate increase.

So after all of that, I'm back with cable. All considering, I still saved money, and better appreciated what I already have. I just feel bad about the guy I stabbed.
------------------------
Heads up for later this week: I've got a few guest posters lined up to help celebrate my birthday, which is on Saturday, although it is celebrated as a federal holiday on the following Monday (schools and post offices will be closed). I think you'll love what they've written. There's not a Jersey Shore reference or a terrible Anne Frank joke in them, so we're already doing better than most of my stuff.

One other thing: I'm trying to be better about responding to comments by e-mail, so if you want to hear back from me, include your e-mail address when you comment.

Otherwise, to track you down I have to resort to climbing up the tree near your window and watching you get ready in the morning. Oh, and don't wear that striped shirt. No, the one in your left hand.

To discuss a trip to the eye doctor, in which he got a feel for my eyeballs

I am blessed in my family to not have a genetic history of cancer or other terrible diseases.
There is a history, however, of Alzheimers, which either I don't have yet or I don't remember that I have it. The only thing I have to worry about in the immediate future is vision problems, as there's a history of glaucoma, astigmatisms and generally having the vision of Mr. Magoo. That makes annual trips to the eye doctor necessary.

I finally went today, after procrastinating for months (another New Year's resolution accomplished... I still have hire Miranda Kerr as my maid, however).

There's a reason people with perfectly good insurance put off going to the eye doctor or the dentist: You are paying other people to point out your inadequacies. Yes, thanks, I know I should floss more. How about I shove the spit sucker in your mouth and see how you like it?

At the eye doctor, you spend an hour hoping to correctly identify fuzzy letters, having things put in your eyes, and being generally reminded it's not safe for you to be around sharp objects and babies. Plus, they scrutinize your eyecare routine.

Question: "How often do you change your contacts?"
Answer: "Every two weeks."
Honest answer: "Crap, you're supposed to change them?"

The eye chart, in particular, is God's way of weeding out the weak, an optical survival of the fittest. You can't see from far away, zebra? Shebamzee! You just got eaten by a motherf***** tiger who snuck up on you. Next time you'll wear your contacts, won't you, silly zebra?

I fully believe opticians* secretly laugh at patients who are crazy far off on the eye chart guesses: "You think that's an O? That's a G! You're a loser and will never feel the touch of a woman!"
* I had optometrist here, but AmyXXOO, who is in this field, pointed out optician is the right word. She's so smart

Why not at least make the charts enjoyable to read?

(Answer: Boobies is a fun word to say, right?)

I am always a bit scared of this device, which makes me look like a mechanical Ewok.

After successfully completing a battery of tests -- everyone gets a body cavity search at the eye doctor, of course... *awkward pause* -- it was time to pick out new frames. I decided not to opt for the Disney Princess look, as I don't need 7-year-old girls being jealous of my Jasmine frames.

Instead, I went with the plastic frame trend. I figured there's still a good 2-3 weeks before that trend is over, so I still have time. I settled on a pair of Ted Baker dark brown frames with a light blue interior, a truly non-traditional choice that is either going to make me look awesome or make me the next selection on "What Not to Eyewear."

Hey, I wanted to make a bold choice. The glasses guy said too many people say they want to change things up, and then back off and go with the safe option. I'm a trendsetter! That's what I'll keep telling myself! Why am I using so many exclamation points!


If you have any eye doctor horror stories, please share...

To discuss a two-week Weekend Update, Part One

The past two weeks have flown by... in that time, we've crowned a Top Model and an American Idol, my computer died, I was told to grow a mustache and I visited one of America's finest imported retailers.
To catch up on lost blogging (see: died, computer), here's a two-part Weekend Update, starting off with my trip to a nearby amusement park, Hershey Park, that, coincidentally, is not too far from where Jon and Kate Plus 8 Plus 1 Mistress live. I did not see them, although at least if they do visit, they have an even number of kids for the rides. I think it would have been acceptable, if they instead had quintuplets, to go for one more baby to even that out. Or to "forget" one near a hospital entrance. Whatever is easiest.
Weekend Number 1:

• My last visit to Hershey Park about 13 years ago. I have since have become an old man. At least, that's what I infer from the age bracket most of the tweenage park visitors seemed to belong to, a bracket full of "Oh my God you guys!" "He, like, likes me, but I, like, like his friend or whatever" and "I'm not fully aware yet that it's inappropriate for me to show cleavage like this in public, since I only developed cleavage three weeks ago and now I'm jail bait's jail bait."

• Some men determine their manhood through such trials as football, ultimate fighting or wearing loin cloths. I believe I determined mine on the first roller coaster, Fahrenheit, which immediately takes you straight up into the sky. Straight Up.* At one point, I saw Jesus, then determined it couldn't have been Jesus because Jesus, historically speaking, would not have been tall enough to be on the ride... I think I retained my man card on the coaster, as I didn't cry or scream.***
• Capricorn and I rode four roller coasters... but she didn't get scared until she noticed an approaching thunderstorm and was convinced a bolt of lightning amidst the towering steel would strike us all dead. Although that theory only works if you are Wile E. Coyote, we ran for shelter nonetheless as the storm poured on. Next time, I'll skip the admission tickets and just rent "Twister" to give Capricorn the same level of excitement and fear, plus a pre-famous Philip Seymour Hoffman, a pre-Big Love Bill Paxton and a Mad-About-You Helen Hunt. Now that, friends, is the perfect storm.
• Capricorn informed me I'm not allowed to become a carny.
• Why can't public transportation replicate the thrill of a roller coaster? We'd solve this energy crisis and increase light rail use if we could make the rides include loops, powered launches and steep drops.****
• Speaking of which, the visit inspired me to play a computer game for the first time since my Oregon Trail days. And, if you read the ensuing post, you know what happened next with Roller Coaster Tycoon. Epic Computer Fail. Epic Virus Win. At that moment, I hated all roller coasters not named Ben.
• Not an Epic Fail: This photo of Capricorn and I on a wooden roller coaster. Fortunately, I was wearing my adult diaper.

* Now tell me, are you gonna love me forever?**
** Oh Oh Oh.
*** Just kidding. I haven't had a man card since I first walked into Express Men.
**** Also, if there were fewer creepy people who twitch and grin at you with four teeth.

Come back for part II midday...

To discuss an electronic obit

Computer, Andy's laptop, died on Sunday due to complications with a virus. It was 4 years old.
Computer, who was called "HP" by his friends and "What Macs Pee On" by his enemies, had lived a good life until Sunday afternoon, when its owner tried to download pornography a game no, it wasn't porn that he was too cheap to buy. The computer's owner has asked not to reveal the game due to the sensitivity of the event.*

Despite epic effort by its owner and its owner's hot girlfriend, Computer could not be saved, fighting against the epic virus until only its Welcome screen would appear, the "Welcome" phrase now just a cruel irony for Computer's final goodbye. The exact nature of the virus was not clear, although Computer is blaming it on Al Jazeera or possibly Gary Coleman.

Computer will live on in spirit, though, as System Recovery cleaned out the hard drive and gave Computer a second chance, like a friend who comes back from a coma but has amnesia.

Computer's owner said he was pleased he had coincidentally recently backed up several files, including lots of photos. But he can't help but think there are pieces that will be lost forever-- including many blog-related items. Now, he is now up against the task of finding files, re-downloading programs and finding all the sweet Natalie Portman photos he had.

Andy's computer will not be buried or cremated, although he did consider drop kicking it once during the final few hours. In lieu of flowers, please leave your comments about your own losses with computers.

* It was Rollercoaster Tycoon. I was trying to get my coaster on like it's 1999, just about the last time I played it. There's a reason I wanted to build an amusement park. See the next post, a late Weekend Update, for details, which will include a photo worth seeing.

To discuss a Real Life Play-by-Play: I'm gassed.

It is 1 a.m. right now. I've just passed gas, and all my neighbors know about it. Let me backtrack.

I left my place Friday night to spend the weekend at Capricorn's house, Bailey and all. One marathon session of The Wire Season 3, one viewing of "John Tucker Must Die (and so must that movie", one road trip to an outlet mall and several chocolate desserts later, it was time for me to head back on Sunday night.

I got back around 11:10 p.m... these are the events that transpired...

11:12 It's raining, as it has been all day. I've got some bags and Bailey's cage to bring in, so I leave Bailey in the car as I take a trip inside. I open the door, flick on the lights... and immediately smell gas. Considering I write for a newspaper, I've read/written way too many stories that start out, "An 89-year-old woman was killed today in a fiery explosion after a gas leak," I was a little freaked out.

11:13 I realize that one of the stove knobs must have been bumped. The gas stove in this apartment has knobs that can be easily moved to an "on" position without much effort- just slightly push in and turn; I've already done it a couple times accidentally, but immediately realized it.

11:13 and 5 seconds: I decide to brave it. I run to the kitchen like a 6-year-old girl outrunning a boy with cooties, and see one knob slightly turned. I flick it back to off, and tore open the shutters and windows like it was the Night Before Christmas up in this mother.

11:14 I call Capricorn, who was expecting me to call when I got home. "Hey, Capricorn. So, I'm back, and, uh, the gas has been left on since Friday and I'm hoping the house won't blow up. What's new with you?"

11:15 Capricorn and I agree to get away from the house, and I tell her I'll call the fire department. Capricorn immediately reminds me she had been worried this was going to happen, as those knobs are about as childproof as a loaded shotgun.

11:17 I call 911. My initial request is, "Hey, the gas has been left on for a few days, I turned it off and opened the windows, is there anything else I can do?" The goal was to avoid the whole spectactle of emergency crews arriving. I didn't need Hazmat and FEMA showing up (in hindsight, if I didn't want FEMA to show up, I could have just reported a broken levee). The 911 lady said she'd send someone over just to be safe.

11:19 A fireman arrives in his own pickup, and an ambulance follows. I figure, no biggie, this sounds about right. He'll make sure everything's fine, and the ambulance crew will make sure I'm not dying. Then the fireman says, "Yeah, it'll just be a minute or so until the trucks arrive." The trucks-- it's just a gas leak? I wonder.

11:21 Strip clubs don't have this many flashing red lights. There were now five fire trucks, three fire pickup trucks and the ambulance all around my complex parking lot. We were a billow of smoke away from the Marine Corps arriving.

11:22 I'm (nicely) told to wait in a pickup truck to stay out of the rain. Some of the firemen are checking inside to make sure the pilot lights are OK, and to help ventilate the place. I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of Denis Leary or John Travolta. Neither appear.

11:25 Neighbors are now filtering out and staring at my apartment, much the same way you look at a car wreck on the highway. It's amazing how you feel guilty at this moment, as if you've done something scandalous because there are emergency officials at your house. It's like when you get pulled over by a cop and passing drivers leer at you. I talk myself out of throwing a match at my apartment and giving my nosy neighbors a show.

11:26 It'd be a legendary show, Andy.

11:27 No, Andy, your flat screen would blow up.

11:30 The firemen tell me I did the right thing to turn off the stove and ventilate the place. I couldn't help but overhear one guy say, however, how he was bummed the place wasn't on fire. I can understand that, though. A gas leak for a firemen must be the blue balls of emergency response.

11:40 The fire trucks leave, and I'm allowed to reenter my home, which I was assured is safe even though I keep feeling I'm one spark away from hosting a Chinese New Year's party.

11:41 Capricorn and I talk on the phone again, and we agree I need to talk to the landlord about doing something about those knobs. I also take the opportunity to run out and snap a few photos of the spectacle. I've got blog readers to think about in these tragic times.

11:42 Remember Bailey? Yeah, he's been in my car this whole time. I finally let him out. He's so excited about all the fire trucks, he poops in the grass as soon as possible.

11:50 A gas company official arrives. He's got to do his own tests. He tells me he recently got called to a place where a Great Dane bumped the stove knob and caused gas to leak. This is what happens when you have a horse for an indoor pet.

11:51 I wonder if my neighbors are going to hate me now for all of this.

11:52 I wonder if my neighbors have gas leaks all the time, too.

11:53 I wonder if this one neighbor in particular ever wears real pants, as I've only seen him in weird boxer shorts walking his dog.

12:10 a.m. I'm supposed to be at work at 8 a.m., and yet there is no way I'm going to bed anytime soon. A) I still have to vent the whole place and there's a cold draft B) I just had five fire trucks outside my f'in door C) I wanted to write this and post it first, just in case I die.

12:30 Well, yeah, a gas leak is not going to spark that easily-- not unless we're on the set of "Deep Blue Sea." But you'd think, at this point, we'd have the knowledge to design stove knobs that don't accidentally cause gas leaks.

1:00 Capricorn and I agree to get the childproof rings for the knobs, and I'm going to request our landlord put similar rings on everybody else's stoves. I don't want to die because of a Great Dane. I want to die because I got attacked by a Great White shark. That would be legendary.

To discuss As Seen on TV: Snuggie review for the ages

This is the final entry to last week's "As Seen on TV Week," full of product reviews, news and other stories of our favorite As Seen on TV products. Check here for a PediPaws , ShamWow, and Hercules Hooks reviews...

When I first saw an advertisement for Snuggie, I couldn't believe my eyes. A blanket with sleeves, for $20, plus $8 shipping? That's an actual product? If this is the American ingenuity President Obama is referring to, we might be in this recession longer than predicted.

But it is just interesting enough that you want to wear it once, no matter how goofy it looks-- kind of like Crocs, ascots or baby seal skins. Just kidding. Dead baby seals don't look goofy. They look great! Just kidding, PETA. I wouldn't kill the baby seal before I wore it.

Now, I didn't actually own a Snuggie, so I called up my momz. This was the conversation:
Me: "Hey, momz, you own a Snuggie, right?"
Momz: "Yes, why?"
Me: "Can you, um, mail it to me?"
Momz: "Sure... but why do you need a Snuggie mailed to you?"
Me: "I'd like to take photos of myself wearing it around town."
Momz: (Silence) "Yeah, sure, I'll send it."

Just to be clear, I washed the Snuggie before returning it. I'm a good son. Here's the rundown of what your life could be like with a Snuggie:

Snuggie at the office: What better way to keep cozy at the cubicle than by wearing a Snuggie? Just don't try to use your hands, because the giant, oversized sleeves will make your arms into blue flippers. When they said one size fits all, the "one" must have been a blue whale who swallowed all the other customers.

Snuggie in the bathroom: After hours of wearing your Snuggie on your couch and drinking topbottom shelf tequila alone, you'll undoubtedly need to urinate. That is the exact time you'll find out Snuggie engineers didn't install a crotch flap for doing No. 1. No. 2, on the other hand, is doable, but your Snuggie would be all across the toilet and you'll likely flush your sleeve.
Snuggie modeling: There's no reason you can't look your best in a Snuggie, even if it fits you like a feed sack. Just look at how sexy I look. I don't Beyonce's ready for my Snuggie Jelly!
Snuggie pimping: There's a certain swagger that comes with wearing America's finest shirt blanket. Toss one on before you head out for a night on the town, and you might find someone snuggling up to your Snuggie. If you thought a skirt offered easy access, just trying grinding with a guy while you're wearing, essentially, a fleece hospital gown. Score!
Snuggie gangs: But Snuggies can also help you with your street cred. You'd be awash in Crip blue, or, if they kick you out because you look like a $#%&@ fairy, you could start your own rival gang. You could become known for being all shady-like, and having the warmth to stay out all night on the streets.
Snuggie superhero: In the event that you want to fight for good instead of evil, use the Snuggie to make your own Bat Signal. Bad ass!
Snuggie monk: Give your outfit a reverential boost; add a hood to complete the effect. Feel the warmth of the Spirit... the spirit of Snuggie!Snuggie cooking: Yeah, don't do this. That's an open flame and a loose sleeve. Snuggie bullfighting: There are few things more manly than fighting a freaking bull. But why sacrifice warmth while out in the arena getting your bull on? Keep your body comfortable, while flailing the Snuggie in the air. Use a red Snuggie for that extra element of danger.
Snuggie for pets: This would probably work better with a normal-sized dog, as the Snuggie people did not foresee the marketing potential of Snuggies for chiweenies. Bailey did not seem impressed.

--------------------------------
Special thanks to coworker Hannah for taking several photos of me (there's a few bonus shots on her blog). Extra thanks to Bailey for letting me take photos of him throughout infomercial week.

To discuss a Week(long) Update: Hospitals, Furloughs and I'm an idiot

Rather than a small, day-old Weekend Update, I need to recap what happened to me all of last week, if only so I can look back at this post five years from now and remember.

Monday: Find out our company is instituting five-day furloughs (forced, unpaid days off, like a temporary lay-off). Actually, we found out just before we left work Friday, so we'd have the weekend to freak out about it and be calm by Monday. That plan, just like in Office Space, doesn't work. We were still buzzing about it like furloughs are the new Watchmen.

Five unpaid days means I'll have to be even tighter on a budget that right now consists of me going: "I'd love to get the $5 footlong, as the advertising jingle makes the sandwich seem both irresistible and financially viable, but that's an extra $1.50 I shouldn't really spend. Six-inch, please." And that's with me being fully employed with no kids. Capricorn is still several years away from being my sugar momma, so I'll instead have to cut back for now. This means fewer Shamrock Shakes. I'm not sure how to break the news to McDonalds and their employees, who will likely need to be furloughed.

Spent a long, long night watching three hours of "The Bachelor," which was ABC's way of punishing Americans for their sins. They could've edited everything into 20 minutes of programming. At least it made for good play-by-plays.

Tuesday: For the second Tuesday in a row, I get a migraine headache, even though I never used to get a migraine.

It's an odd feeling, because I started out the day with a mild headache, the kind usually reserved for putting off sexual relations. By the end of the work day, my eyes had trouble focusing, all the lights seemed bright, my temples were pulsing and I felt feverish. Most people would pass this off as a case of the VH1's, but I don't drink like those people. I spent much of the evening napping... which creates problems when it's actually time to go to sleep. Fortunately, I had American Idol on Tivo and Shamwow infomercials to keep me company. Side note: Capricorn is buying a Shamwow for me. I want one. Badly.

Wednesday: I was tired but felt better. That is, until late in the afternoon when I got a call from my mom about my younger brother being taken to the emergency room for a collapsed lung. Considering he's a healthy, strong guy, this was crazy talk, but I brushed off the notion that my mom had suddenly lost her mind. That only happens to Britney. I left work early and spent the next several hours with my bro, who wasn't in life-or-death state but wasn't in great shape either. Or, better put, on a scale of one to death, he was a 6.

His co-workers and my sister came, too, as we're the closest family members by distance. This does beg the question, if you were admitted to the hospital with a severe condition, who do you think would be the first three people to arrive, and would you necessarily want it to be those three? Ponder this.

I left after everything got under control, and spent the next few hours doing the Top Model play-by-play, partly to calm down, partly for all of you.

Thursday: Work was incredibly busy, so much so that I couldn't leave early to go back to the hospital (about 30 minutes away). Eventually, I left and spent several more hours with my bro, who was under all kinds of pain medication that I'm sure high schoolers are using to get high these days. At this point, my bro had figured out when the hot nurses were on shift and tried to time the pain medication delivery for when they were around. He was sick, but not stupid. Also find out that tall, skinny males like him are prone to collapsed lungs, which makes me fear for NBA players, Conan O'Brien and Cameron Diaz.
Came back late and spent another long night on Top Model and The Office blogs.

Friday: Find out that instead of the 30 days to vacate notice I assumed was needed for my landlord (lease is up end of March), I actually was required to give 60 days, so I'll be paying double rent in April after I move. Considering this was purely me being an idiot, I'm thrilled with myself, as I haven't seen money that quickly wasted since Congress did... well, just about anything in the past three months.

By now, furlough has become the word de jour in the office, and we are using it as a verb, adjective, adverb and everything else: "Hey, is so-and-so out sick today?" "Nope, he was furloughing." "I ran out of tampons." "Just put your period on furlough." I also staged an emergency furlough drill in which I huddled under my desk and covered my head.

Went to the hospital, this time with Capricorn. My mom, aunt and cousin drove in from a few hours away as well. In my family, we get together for holidays, deaths and hospital visits. I think it's my turn to get gravely ill next time. It's how you keep a family strong. That, and gossiping.

Saturday: Capricorn's parents came to my town so she and I could show them the apartment we'll be living in together. The spare bedroom is being renamed the "Blog Room," which will kind of be my Fortress of Solitude, except I won't wear a cape yeah, I will when I'm there. The parents like the place, and take us out to dinner afterward. Free meal? Sign me up!

Sunday: Spent most of the day going, "Wow, why is it so late already?" before remembering Daylight Saving Time is over. Spent the other part of the day reading Cosmo (recap here) and Maxim (recap soon), and realizing how awesome my girlfriend is for being cool with me reading Cosmo and Maxim. And how confused she must be. Also, I put up a new poll asking for your advice.
My brother finally comes home from the hospital, now doing better. He also gave one of the hot nurses his number, despite the fact he spent several days hooked up to tubes with a bedpan nearby. I'm proud of him on multiple levels.

So... yeah, it's been a little off-the-wall. I'd ask for a do-over, but I'd rather reserve that for when things really get bad. Or when Kim Kardashian gets her own NBC sitcom.

To discuss my life in e-mails and shaping chesticles

I figured if the first part didn't draw you in, the second part would.
Pervert.
Let's get the second part over with now.
This commercial boggles my mind. It's either one of the most erotic infomercials ever, or it's the most disturbing. I'm no Dr. McDreamy (unless it's in my veterinary metaphor), but I'm still guessing it's not natural for boobs to move sideways like that. If that's the idea, then they really screwed up on Baywatch girls going up and down all those years.
Watch a minute (or two- it's enchanting) of the footage. As a guy, I'm highly confused about my emotions on this- it is, technically, cleavage... but it looks like fleshy shape shifters. More accurately, it looks like those scarabs in "The Mummy" have grown larger, taken over that poor woman's chesticles, and are now pacing back and forth.
Am I missing something here, or wouldn't adding muscle, by doing chest exercises, actually decrease the bust line because breast tissue is made of fat? You didn't see busty swimmers and gymnasts at the Olympics, did you? Just a thought.
But hey, it worked for 58-year-old Kathleen H: "I saw everything come up and everything fill out." As Michael Scott would say, that's what she said.

----------------
On to important business. Ever since I started this blog, I've had the idea in the back of my head that it would be fun and memorable for me and entertaining for you if I gave an overview of some recent years in my life, kind of a "The Story of Andy." Not that every day goes as horribly as this one, but it might make for some high entertainment to recall past failures.
To do that straight from memory, though, would be a feat. But then I remembered one thing that tracks the passage of time better than clocks and fashion trends: E-mails.
Kids, I looked in my Hotmail account (which uses my AIM screen name from when I was in sixth grade), and I've got e-mails dating the whole way back to Dec. 2001, nearing the end of my first semester in college. Sent e-mails are precious few, but I've got tons and tons of received e-mails because I never delete them out of fear that one day I'd write a blog and some random person would want to read about them (I'm so smart).
So here is what I'm proposing-- and if it's a terrible idea, say so. I'd like to do a semi-regular series of posts (monthly?) that, using nothing but memory and snippets of e-mail text, reconstruct that fateful freshmen year until now. I promise to make it juicy and funny and terribly embarrassing on my half, without naming names to protect the innocent. This is either my best idea ever or my worst.
Most of it will be recounting and second-guessing what I was thinking at the time. There's also life-changing decisions, failures, successes- all the good stuff. What do you think?
--------
Also- I'm going out tonight with a new Ladyfriend. No, not Quiznos girl. This is someone with whom I've actually had a conversation with out loud and not just in my head, and who appears to be funny/cute/friendly/not likely to murder me/all those good things. And who, from what she said, reads this blog... and she still wants to see me tonight. This makes me wonder about the mental state of other men in her life if I seem like a viable option. Anyway, wish me luck. I promise to be a gentleman.

To discuss a quick synopsis of Andy's latest failure

Wow- I had no idea that dog posts are the cornerstone to good blogging. You guys love your dog posts. I'll keep that in mind.
I wasn't planning on writing anything else for today, but I just thought you'd enjoy my daily dose of embarrassment*...

I had just finished getting my hair cut... This time, I made sure not to talk about anyone's dead boyfriend... Actually, I didn't speak at all (although I should have, because she didn't quite cut it the way I like. I always feel bad saying anything, like it's their artistic creation).
I walked over to a nearby Quiznos to delight my stomach with The Traditional. As I'm ordering, in walks a woman in her early 20s, with long, dark wavy hair, who is impeccably dressed. She's out of my league, but if you know anything about baseball, they do September call-ups for players in the minors. So my chances are good.
Except, you know, my neutered dog has more testicular fortitude than me at this moment.
I glance back at her, then move down the line. I glance over again (not staring, mind you. I didn't have the proper trench coat and bucket hat for that), and this time she gave me the smile, blush and look away. That, in girl body language, is the equivalent of "I will be the mother of your first born."**
So I complete my order and am now faced with dilemma of how to stall for time, since she is a couple people back. I take an unusually long time filling my drink and pretending to call someone on my cell phone. She finishes getting all her stuff and is right behind me as I walk out the door- which I held for her.
The following conversation took place:
Her: "Thanks."
Me: "No problem."
Me: (thinking) "What is wrong with you, Andy? Say something @#%*&#$. She's right there. She gave you the look-away! Say something about the delicious meats you just got... anything."
Me: (Speaking quietly) "Uh...mm....uh"

She walked to her car. I walked toward the end of the lot to mine, after blowing an opportunity that had God's fingerprints all over it.
Here's the kicker. Right before I get in my car, she drives by AND DOES THE CUTE GIRL WAVE AT ME. Then, she drives away.
@%&#*&#$(#%&(*@$!


* Necessary note before reading on- Ladyfriend and I did not work out- just one of those things. She is a great person. I still hope to find someone to commit elderly suicide with.
** I'm not too far off, ladies, and you know it.