To discuss getting my game on, and what Wii might want for other games

Capricorn and I took a trip to my brother's house on Saturday for a little Wii action.
Being deprived children when we grew up*, my brother and I didn't have the latest video gaming system and were often told to instead "use our imagination" or "read a book." Now, sure, all of that creativity and reading helped me become what some might call a "good writer" and "a productive member of society."

But it didn't help me beat Bowser or figure out what exactly WAS the legend of Zelda.
Since those days, my brother and I (my sister is not a gamer, per se), have taken greater appreciation of video games, whether on a Playstation 2, a Nintendo 64 (Mario Kart is the pinnacle of 90s gaming) and now, with his Wii.

No, we're never going to be hardcore gamers, however attractive it might be to endlessly play World of Warcraft so much your girlfriend breaks up with you because you've installed a catheter to cut down on bathroom breaks.

But we do love when we have a chance to play a game together. On Saturday, that meant Wii tennis (Capricorn beat me, btw), Wii bowling, Wii Mario Kart and Wii Duck Hunt. It's not far fetched to say if Wii had been around when we were kids, I might not have been the writer I am today. I also might be a total fatty.

In an effort not to disappoint my mother, let me combine my childhood creativity and modern Wii gaming in something we'll call, "Andy's Attempts to Justify a Post about Wii." Here are Wii games I would have liked as a boy:

Wii Dodgeball: High schools around the country have stopped allowing dodgeball out of the danger of injury to nerds. Well, in Wii Dodgeball, the nerds fire 100 mph throws at their jock opponents. Using real-life arm motion, nerds can get revenge despite their lack of arm muscle and athletic prowess. When jocks get hit by a ball, their testicles explode into a puff of confetti and failure.

Wii Homework: Wii scans your homework, and fills out the answers for you. Users can enter the approximate amount of spelling mistakes and inaccurate information needed to give it a "realistic feel." Completed homework can be sent to users e-mail accounts. And, when users get caught in real life cheating and are kicked out of school, they'll have tons of extra Wii gaming time on their hands.

Wii Vegetables: Tell your parents you're eating your vegetables every day, because technically, you are. Little do they know, it's Wii broccoli. To get bonus points, gamers must find new ways to hide their spinach without being detected.

Wii Middle School Dance: Users must first pass a note to a girl during class, a note that must be folded in an intricate style so as to impress the girl with your origami skills. This difficult Wii task is done with the new "Wii Trembling Hands" controller. If the girl circles "yes" to your request to go to the dance together, you must then Wii pin a corsage on her without drawing blood, Wii slow dance to "Endless Love" without stepping on her foot, and Wii kiss without getting your braces tangled. This game is compatible with "Wii High School Prom," which features such levels as "Rent a Hotel Room" and "Try to Get Lucky."

Wii Captain Planet: I'm not sure why this hasn't happened yet. You could have special hand movements to do "Earth!" (arms spread out around them) "Wind!" (hands rush upward) "Water!" (arms do a wave gesture, 80s style) "Fire!" (hands do explosion gesture) and "Heart!" (hands rub crotch vigorously)

Wii Sex Ed: Users have to virtually put a condom on a banana, Wii giggle at the teacher, watch a Wii movie about wee little semen entering a Wii vagina, and make Wii inappropriate hand gestures.

* By deprived, I mean having all the food, clothing, shelter and affection a boy could ask for, but not having a Super Nintendo.
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Sidenote: StateIAmIn got me addicted to my first Facebook app game, Typing Maniac. She even warned me. Now I'm up to robot level (581,000 points!). I'll take on all challengers... This is the best thing to happen to computer gaming since Oregon Trail. Yeah, I said it.

To discuss a two-part Weekend Update: Part II

This is the second part of an extended Weekend Update. Check here for Part I.

• I've had more musical practices for "Sound of Music." Even in a musical, it's ridiculous having children singing all about "jam and bread." That sounds straight out of "Barney" or "The Elephant Show."*
  
• My director wants me to grow a mustache for my role as Max. I did not inquire if he wants the mustache to have handlebars, entice children, lead to porn star roles or give me an upperhand on any possible Magnum P.I. movies. To reduce Capricorn's embarrassment level and to prevent myself from getting mistaken for a Megan's Law offender, I'm growing a goatee and will shave the bottom half right before the show. That still gives me several days with only a mustache (yes, there will be photos), but I plan on singing on command for anyone who is dubious of my explanation.
  
• It's a shame Hitler ruined the Charlie Chaplin 'stache.
• Capricorn has started moving things in, and has an entire wall-length closet to herself. It is my hope she doesn't soon decide that's not enough space and force me to remove the clothes from my closet and store them outside. We're looking at 50/50 odds.
• Capricorn and I hit the eight month mark on Saturday. We're firmly entrenched in the "too many months to make it worth noticing, not enough months to make it worth celebrating." We're in relationship purgatory. I imagine this is how Catholics celebrate most anniversaries, except with an added dose of guilt.
• In a family outing of sorts, my brother, sister and her boyfriend, Capricorn and I went out to lunch Sunday, then to my brother's new place to play Wii. We all had little to no experience Wii-ing, so it was more a comedy of errors. I recommend Wii Play and its Duck Hunt mini-game, although the updated version of this classic has far fewer ducks and now includes beer cans to shoot at.... There was also a racial profiling mini-game, where you are supposed to pick out people in a group who look alike, a game I'm sure is used to train airport security. To hit the red state trifecta, there was also a mini-game where you ride a cow, as Nintendo evidently missed the memo that you are supposed to save the horse by riding a cowboy.*
• We took a group trip to IKEA. At the mere mention of my IKEA visit to neighbors and to Facebook friends, I got "I'm jealous" reactions, which makes me wonder if having a job at IKEA is akin to retail utopia.
• If IKEA bought Ford and Chevy, I think we might just pull Detroit out of its funk, although United Auto Workers would suffer massive layoffs. "Sweet ride, dude. The Chevy IMMPÄLLA is a real smooth ride... and can be assembled in 8 simply steps with just a screwdriver!"**
• I fulfilled my promise to Capricorn by going to the doctor to get a check-up (haven't had one in years) and to see about my headaches. The doctor enters the room...Doctor: "So... you're here for a check-up?" Me: "Yep." Doctor: "I don't get a lot of 26-year-olds coming in for check-ups. You really want a check-up?" Me (now worried I did something wrong): "Um, yep." Doctor: "You sure that's what you need?" Me: (He knows about the meth! He knows about the meth!) "Yeah, that's what I want." ... Eventually I told him about the headaches and whatnot and everything was fine. I do have to go in for some bloodwork, which I hope will be done by Olivia Wilde.***

* Skinamarinkydinkydink is street for "I'd hit it." Don't let Bram fool you. He wasn't singing that to Sharon and Lois for nothing.
* That would be a top-selling Wii game. You'd buy it. Be honest.
*** It can be picked up in Aisle 33, Bin 3. Right next to the Ford EXPPLLÖRERD.
**** Just kidding Capricorn. I'd settle for Katherine Heigl.*****
***** But not the Heigl whose character has sex with dead people and has brain cancer. First season Heigl.

Bonus for IKEA fanatics: Visit this site. Thank me later.

To discuss the farmer in the blog and the Capricorn on the tractor

Hump day, schlump day. Let's get in weekend mode with a late-but-fun Weekend Update...

Did you know you can have good clean fun with just $5 to your name? It's true. First, you barter with the hooker to...

Oh, "good clean fun." Gotcha.

I spent the weekend with Capricorn*, as always. And, as always, we found a new way to enjoy our time together without spending a lot... here are the highlights, including a rare video appearance by Ms. Capricorn herself.

What I heard:

• Capricorn's dad, to me, in a serious tone: "Andy, there's something I need to ask you about." Me: (Ghost white face, remembering alibis and exits) Capricorn's dad: (Pause) Me: (Sweet Satan's groin, is it hot in here?) Capridad: "... do you know anything about pouring concrete? I've got a project." Me: "Uhhh.... no?" Capridad, to Capricorn: "Did you see the look on his face?"
• Yes, I sent my mother a card for Mother's Day, as well as some photos. One of them was a snapshot taken from this video. I also gave her a call. As an adult, I've learned Mother's Day consists of your mother telling you about which child has called so far and what those children are up to right now. And what the neighbors are doing in their backyards. And what they are eating for dinner. Without you there.
  
• "The Sound of Music" was on TV on Sunday night, so, considering I'm in the show this summer, I watched it. It was midway through when I told Capricorn that if I ever have precocious kids like those von Trapps, I want her to shoot me.

What I saw:

• My brother moved this past weekend across town. In my family, at least one of us, including my brother and sister, move every six months. We are to moving what the von Trapps are to singing, except when I move, I don't want to have Capricorn shoot me.
• While cleaning my brother's old place, I recommended he set his toilet on fire. It was the fastest, most effective cleaning solution. It also may very well be the elimination of the swine flu source.
  
• Next we went to my brother's new place. He's doing a nice job renovating the house, but has yet to do anything with the root cellar beneath the front porch. That's fine, as the carpeted walls and musty smell will make it a prime place to gut his dates while singing creepy children's songs. Or at least I assume that's the room's purpose.
• My brother is in the agricultural sales business, and now lives beside his tractor dealership. They own a golf cart, which my brother used to make dumpster runs across the parking lot. Capricorn had never driven a golf cart before. Given the opportunity, she could barely contain herself. Then, upon tapping the gas pedal, she immediately declared the golf cart was destined to roll over and kill everyone and their first born. Soon, though, she became the Ricky Bobby of golf cart driving. I was so proud.
  
• My brother, sensing Capricorn's zealous ambition at driving new things, offered Capricorn the chance to drive a late-model tractor. You'll notice the experience resembles a dad teaching his daughter how to ride a bicycle with training wheels. You haven't ever really loved a woman** until you've seen her drive a tractor. So, yes, Capricorn, I think your tractor is sexy, even if I know next to nothing about them (compared to my brother. He's available, ladies!)

Here's the crude, video evidence....

Do you have any tractor-riding experiences to share?
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* Some of you were under the impression Capricorn already moved in... no, that hasn't happened yet, just part of the upcoming plan. (Capricorn, for newcomers, is my girlfriend. Read about our first date here.)
** Don't listen to Bryan Adams. You don't need to see your unborn children in their eyes to really love a woman. I don't fall in love over an eye fetus.
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In case you missed it, I had a guest post over at Jenners' site yesterday (Thanks, Jenners; your loyal readers helped get me over the 100 Google followers mark. I will dance in celebration. By myself.) And, if you haven't yet, vote in the social media poll...

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 photo infamy, one large pair of glasses at a time

It's finally time. I gave you a teaser on Tuesday, let it stew on Wednesday, let it marinate Thursday, and now you're either really hungry or you're really excited to see embarrassing photos of me.
Here's the background:
Capricorn came to my hometown for the first time last weekend. After a tour of the house, my parents, Capricorn and I came to the family room. I pointed to the rows of VHS tapes we still own, perhaps in hopes that DVDs will fall out of fashion one day... or that Blu Ray discs will cause AIDS. As we sit down, my mom announces she's found a video she'd love to show Capricorn.
Once the tape started rolling, I realized it was home movie footage, shot on our first and only VHS camcorder, back when I was in the 5-7 age range. The following is a photo montage I hope you appreciate as much as Capricorn does, because she is still laughing about it to this day.

The boy in the prison stripes? That's me. The blond boy on the far left with the tasteful, tropical clothing is my younger brother. I have no idea who those chicks were, but I'm sure they were digging my chili. The mojo is just too strong....At this point, I am at Sesame Place, the theme park for Sesame Street where the fun never stops...

But you wouldn't know it by this photo. I look angrier than John Stamos every time he thinks of Jerry O'Connell. I'm not sure why I'm upset, although it could have something to do with the fact I look like a prepubescent Candy Striper and sick elderly people kept coming up to me for sponge baths.

But the good times did roll, thanks to this miracle of (then) modern technology. My brother and I starred in a blue-screen, live action video of Sesame Street, in which we were digitally imposed in the video with Sesame Street characters such as Big Bird, Oscar the Grouch, and Bert and Ernie before Prop 8 forced them to move to Massachusetts.

I wasn't kidding about the blue screen. Still don't know who this girl is, but she wasn't as impressed by my paddling skills as perhaps she should have been. I'm wondering why they gave us life vests, but no helmets. I could have hit my head on a digitally-imposed rock and digitally gushed blood.

My scene involved paddling a boat with Ernie and Bert, and we end up rowing over a waterfall. In what is a portent of my future acting skills, I totally ham it up, overact and try to steal the scene. Ernie and Bert, pissed off at me for stealing what they had hoped would be pre-Brokeback Mountain Oscar thunder, flick me off when the cameras stop taping. But, because of their Muppet fingers, it only looks like they are giving me a thumbs up, so I assume they were impressed.

Yes, that was the title of the video. Capricorn and I burst out laughing. What are the odds- Wild ARS Chase/Wild Duckie Chase? Was this some subconscious thing going on? Should I just rename the blog? Too many questions.


At this point, Mom popped in a second home video. Mind you, I had never seen any of these, nor had any previous girlfriends seen them. Capricorn must be doing something right... This video covers a Christmas around third grade-ish. What's amazing is that, as you can see, I'm trying to give a news report. Even back then, I wanted to do news. Note to third grade self: "Dude, there is no money or respect in this news business. Use some sense and get a business degree instead. Also, invest in something called "Google." And don't give a girl named Krista a Valentine in two months. It won't end well."

My brother mugs for the camera. That's not unusual. What is strange and disturbing is that I appear to be pulling down my pants and/or grabbing my young junk, on camera. This, fortunately, did not turn into a routine. Now I only do it off-camera.

Want another round? Try this middle school one on for size. It's me playing clarinet, the only boy in our band to do so (Andy, maybe that should have been a clue that, you know, you could have chosen a brass instrument or drums or something that wouldn't have resulted in further emasculating yourself.) The best part about this video is you can see me tapping my toe to the beat... except I'm never on beat, and it appears my foot has Tourettes. Also, it's evident I'm years ahead of the fashion trend by wearing what appear to be capris.

Although not part of the videos, I'd be remiss if I didn't share this embarrassing photo Capricorn saw on our wall of family photos. I'm a gymnast, dressed as what appears to be the gayest of all the Village People. I will say that my form is impeccable.

Oh, why not-- a modern day photo. This is the zip-up sweater my mom shrunk in the dryer. She continues to feel bad about it and was hoping it had stretched out enough to fit. Judges?

To discuss online dating: Jane Austen's worst nightmare

I am mediocre looking.
It's been confirmed. And not just by girls I hit on as a 7th grader.
Famously Single, who has a great blog, went out on a limb and said online dating is for people who are mediocre looking and who aren't content with waiting to meet the right person during daily life.

I agree with Famously on one point- I think there's nothing bad about waiting and going all traditional. It's how our parents did it. It's how every Jane Austen character has done it. It's how most people throughout history have done it. I can't imagine Helen of Troy would have filled out an eHarmony profile (Interests: Ships, Trojan condoms, war, Brad Pitt).
Still, I think online dating no longer has the scarlet letter attached to it anymore. It's just another way to meet people. Plus, it's harder to get an STD through e-mail- that's what a spam filter is for.

Here's how I got into online dating:

Last fall, I decided to sign up for Match.com.* Sure, it would have been more traditional to have met the woman of my dreams in day-to-day activities, but, as a reporter, there's a whole journalistic ethics** thing that says it's a no-no to boink your sources (or misquote them. Or misquote them while boinking them). That severely limits my options. Yes, you see journalists in movies doing their sources all the time, but let's remember Drew Barrymore and Tara Reid shouldn't be considered role models for journalistic integrity.

When I scanned the images of the available women within my area, yeah, sure, Famously Single is right: there are a lot of butterfaces (everything but her face), shovelfaces (looks like it got hit with a shovel), gaspfaces (make you gasp in horror), snickerfaces (they must love to eat candy bars... and pizza... and children), and genderfaces (did they accidentally click the wrong box for "gender"?)
They are all looking for love, and I believe there's the right person out there for everyone, although to get them, some have to rely more on personality, some slut it up, and some are Brody Jenner.

But there were several pretty girls. I e-mailed a few, and, surprisingly, got a few e-mails back.
The first date I went on was with XXX. If you haven't read about XXX, who doesn't get the dignity of a good fake name, please read. It's become my favorite story to tell.

Fortunately, dear readers, I soon got an e-mail back from Capricorn, who I couldn't quite believe needed online dating to find a good guy. We went on a date, and it turns out she was even more gorgeous in person than in her photo. No hidden flaw or secret life as a serial killer (it's no secret. She shot someone in the face. Just kidding. It was the chest). She's a great person who wanted a different way to find a man.
I would like the two of us to be on one of those Match.com commercials where we stare at each other and giggle in black-and-white and then Capricorn talks about how awesome I am and how I'm the best thing that's ever happened to her and then I get on with a big smile and say how Capricorn is fully aware of how awesome I am. Something like that.***
To further entrench me in the online dating camp, my brother recently found a funny, pretty girl online, and they've been dating for several weeks. We now double date (face-to-face, not online, although I suppose we could meet in a chat room and speak in emoticons).

So, give me your stance. Any horror stories? Am I completely off base about online dating being a viable option? Am I mediocre looking? (Don't answer the last one. The truth hurts). Famously Single, I applaud you taking a stance, even if it's the wrong one. If you want, I'll be your online dating coach and write your profile for you. I think J-Money even found some eligible bachelors.
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* In hindsight, I should have auditioned for The Bachelor. Or Bromance.
** By ethics, I mean the ones that no one thinks we have. Thanks again, New York Times!
*** Yeah, I'm going to pay for that one. Love you, Capricorn.

To discuss a Weekend Update: More authentic than Taco Bell, less authentic than getting Hepatitis from the water

Hola, ¿que tal?
There was a decidedly Mexican flavor to my weekend. It tasted like tacos, smelled like fried ice cream and sounded like a mariachi band.

Capricorn and I have a new favorite restaurant: El Rodeo...
It inspired us to declare our mutual day off on Friday, "Feliz Navidad 2008." It will be full of Christmas decorating (she's dying to start decorating this year, and I won't Scrooge that up), margaritas, enchiladas and possibly watching Home Alone with Spanish subtitles.

Now, it's time for the Weekend Update, which, as always, is mostly context-free:

Things I heard:

• Guitars, an accordion and loud Mexican singing: At El Rodeo, a local restaurant nestled between a gas station and an Amish furniture store and across the street from a Hooters, authenticity is a prerequisite to fun. What better way to create a Mexican atmosphere than having a mariachi band serenade patrons with traditional songs like "Yesterday" by the Beatles* and "Happy Birthday"? Needless to say, Capricorn and I were excited. This band was so authentic, the lead singer didn't even answer calls in his bluetooth headset while singing.
• Gunshots: From the new James Bond flick, "Quantum of Solace," which I hope to have a review for soon. There's a lot of killing going on this time... it was bloody fantastic. Capricorn had never seen a James Bond movie before (gasp!), and she really enjoyed it... much, much more than "Quarantine."**

Things I saw:

• My brother hitting on two girls sitting in their car at Arby's: My brother, not Mystery, is The Pick-up Artist. He saw two cute girls looking over at our car, so he strutted over and talked to them. On a related note, we are fairly certain the girls are in high school. It happens... so does prison.
  
• Pick-up trucks the size of my apartment taking up two parking spots at a crowded restaurant on Saturday: I hate that. So does Capricorn. She left a note saying as much under the guy's windshield. Bonus points for Capricorn.
• My football fantasy team, 100, other guy, 78. I'm 9-2, baby, and am one step closer to getting my full-fledged fantasy nerd card.

Things I tasted:

• Excellent tacos, and even better fried ice cream: I still am not sure how they fry ice cream, but I don't question the results.

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* Good catch, AmyXXOO. In a rush, I had it spelled Beetles and the crappy spell checker is not pop-culture savvy. I apologize.
** Yes, I'm still haunted by that movie. No, I don't intend on ending my references to it anytime soon. Yes, I still would like to hear from anyone else who has seen it.

To discuss how relationships are like bicep curls, and how I'm in one now

There’s an exciting announcement at the end of this post.*

I started going to the gym again. Now that it’s getting colder (although you know I love autumn like Jessica Simpson’s dad loves her bra size), I can’t keep getting all my exercise through outdoor sports like volleyball. That whole asthma thing sucks (insert inhaler joke here).
I could probably not work out at all and still stay relatively svelte, since God, in His infinite wisdom, decided to bless me with a good metabolism to make up for Him smiting me in other areas, such as personality and intelligence. God’s a good smiter.
But being relatively in shape and being in shape and muscular are two separate things. As I’ve read and agreed with on some of your blogs, just because you’re a thin person doesn’t mean you don’t need to work out (I recall one person writing that some large woman glared and scolded them for working out because they were already thin, as if that means you are in great shape).

So I’ve gone to the gym a few times recently, although not the big megaplexes— yet. There’s one at my apartment complex that barely costs anything to use, so I’ll stick with that one until I get enough muscle to go to the big person gym and lift weights that wouldn’t be ridiculed by an Olsen twin.**
I will say that the entire concept of going to the gym when you’re in your 20s or 30s is a bit ridiculous. This is my theory, at least as far as guys are concerned:
Single guys usually go to the gym to get all those abs and biceps so they can impress single girls. Then, once they get the girl, they have to keep going to the gym to stay fit because they’ve now raised the bar on their appearance. Then, when they break up, the guy goes back to the gym to work out his anger and get in better shape so he can find a new girl. And the cycle continues. Relationships are an endless bicep curl.

I’m sure I’ll write more about the gym at some point— so many things to make fun of— but I do want to include this thought. I just love it when the huge, HGH dudes lifting the equivalent of my body weight on a triceps curl feel the need to slam down weights and scream after each set. As Leo DiCaprio might shout, it’s them saying “I’m the king of the curl!” Except Leo has a neck.
Sometimes I grunt and shout when I’m doing my sets beside them so I can keep up. It invariably sounds like I’m mating with a dog and does not appear manly. At least I'm using the big boy weights and not those colored ones that come in bright blues and pinks.

* I just knew you’d jump to the end. You were probably one of those kids who, when reading the Choose Your Own Adventure books, cheated and read both of the possibilities before selecting an option. Anyway, just thought you should know that Madame Capricorn is the official girlfriend now. Coincidentally, my brother also got a girlfriend last night, which is a very strange and cool coincidence. Fortunately, they are different girls, or that would be awkward.
** OK, really, I actually do have some muscle. So maybe it’s what both Olsen twins can lift combined, which is, say, a can of Red Bull and a dime bag.***
*** If you don’t have enough money, is there a nickel bag? Do they make a food stamp bag?

To discuss Dairy Queen's take on Communion

Brother and I made a stop at Dairy Queen on Sunday so I could treat my intestinal tract to the Oreo Brownie Earthquake, registering 7.6 on the Amazing Scale. While waiting, we saw this disturbing cake.... Do you really want to eat a sheet cake with a Communion Cup and Bible on it? Isn't that sacrilegious? Or is this in place of Communion Bread? Cause I don't think that works. I know for sure that Jesus did not have a sheet cake at the Last Supper. If He did, Judas never would have left to betray him. Who leaves when there's a DQ sheet cake to be eaten?

A short list of terrible metaphors Brother used throughout the afternoon that made no sense and may, in fact, lead to his downfall. The exact wording has been blotted out of my mind to ward off the devil:
I like my women like I like my sausage. Pink in the middle and crispy on the outside...
I like my women like I like my Amish. Black and blue.

Such a gentleman. He has his own Ladyfriend. I hope she's not Amish. Or made of sausage.

I spent much of the afternoon doing laundry.We've been wearing clothes since Eve bit the apple, and we still haven't figured out a more efficient way to clean them than an hour-plus of washing and drying? Really? There seems to be money to be made here... but I'm sure it's not with Proctor and Gamble's latest idea...If you notice, they are repackaging the ideas of Febreze, Downy Wrinkle Release and Dry-el into an expensive, all-in-one kit that's meant to sit on your nightstand. I can't think of one woman who would come to my place, see a shiny, metallic Swash laundry kit on my nightstand and think, "Now there's a man who has his priorities in line. He's so lazy, he won't even do laundry regularly. That means more time for me... Let's make out on top of last week's clothes!"