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.

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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?
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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.

To discuss Michael Phelps staying poolside

Dear Michael Phelps:
First off, in the interest of honesty, let me say that after you won eight freaking medals at the Olympics this summer, I basically am required to have a man crush on you. Not in the, "Hey, let's go back to my place and do it Brokeback style," kind of way- that's gay (Not that there's anything wrong with that... and not to say you aren't an excellent lover... I'm sure you are... It's just that I'm not into the gay stuff... Mikey, whoh, don't misunderstand me... I don't know what you do...if that's what you're into, I mean, I know you hang out with dudes in Speedos all day and maybe you play a little Marco Polo in each others wet suits or whatever... but, you know, I'm just not a man who likes dudes like that.)
Where was I Mike?
Oh yeah, you dominating your Olympic competitors like they were little girls. Mikey, you are a true child predator of the pool- those little girls stood no chance. You just kept lapping them up, no matter how fast they stroked. You always touched first.*
So, Mike, when I heard you were hosting Saturday Night Live's season premiere, I was excited, as was Ladyfriend**. Lil Wayne was the musical guest, and his songs are dirty and hard and gritty, the good stuff you listen to get pumped up, whether it's right before a 4x400 relay race, like you said you did, or, in my case, to get pumped up to grocery shop at Super Wal-mart.
The show starts, Mike, with Tina Fey and Amy Poehler doing dead-on political commentary on Palin and Clinton. Classic.
Then... you introduced the show.
By introduced, I mean slowly read off the cue card like the poster child for another 12 years of No Child Left Behind. I'm a little worried you have a speech impediment. Can chlorine do that? I should investigate.
Sure, Mike, you were in funny bits-- The T-Mobile sketch, the 12,000 calorie sketch-- but, good God man, I've seen better acting in sixth-grade productions of the Christmas Carol***. I'm not asking you to be Peyton Manning-as-host funny. I'm just asking you to at least be Nancy Kerrigan-as-host funny. And, you know, learn to not stare at the cue cards like it's your first rehearsal (Wait, was it? I'd go with that if that's the case.)
Nobody's expecting you to be a top-flight actor. No one will care, anyway, as long as you keep winning medals and celebrating with wild, muscle-rippling fist pumps so girls can literally watch your abs with more intensity than an episode of Grey's Anatomy.
But try not to do improv again. Even in the two sketches where you played mentally deficient kids, you gave a bad name to mentally deficient kids.
Best of luck in London!

Andy

* Ticket to hell: Priceless.
** A quick update: I hung out with Ladyfriend again Saturday night (I did tell her how you all have thrown your support behind her). We made breakfast for dinner- French toast, sausage, bacon, blueberry muffins.. jealous?- and watched the magic that is "Once." All good times. Also, my dog did not bite her, which is a plus. This concludes the update, you voyeur.
*** You know what's an under-appreciated version of A Christmas Carol? The Muppet Christmas Carol. It's amazing. The penguin Christmas party! The Christmas goose! Marley and Marley!

To discuss some random thoughts and my cancelled proposal

A few quick thoughts, after days of crazy long posts that rivaled War and Peace...

• Danity Kane canceled their York, PA show. Did they not know I hyped them in this blog? And they want to cancel over a scheduling conflict? Maybe they forgot about my proposal to Andrea. Now she's never going to get married. And I have to figure out out to get a refund on that 25 cent crank-turn ring machine. I also decided not to do a play by play of Making the Band this week, just for that reason. ANTM, maybe. Other suggestions are welcome.
  
• Thanks to all the supporters who read about the events of Sunday and still think I'm a sane man. I'll tell Ladyfriend you have thrown your support behind her, at which point I'm sure she'll freak out that random people want her to date a guy she's met once. Combine that with my "double suicide" comment, and it's gold.
  
• If you'd like to keep doing the Q&A thing, leave questions in the comments section or e-mail me at wildarschase@yahoo.com... Whenever I get enough questions and/or make them up and pretend they are from actual readers, I'll do another one.
• Related: In my continued success at being unoriginal, I saw that keepyourreceipt.com, which is par excellence all the time, created a Facebook page for itself to make it easier for people to find it and interact. I've done the same thing, because, for better or worse, a huge chunk of people find me through Facebook (the same Facebook that has asked me if I wanted to meet single gay guys in the city and that makes relationship status changes into social events). So go here if you want to check that out.
• Conversation starter of the day: If you could bring back one show from the 90s, with the same cast, as if it never went off air, what would you bring back? I think that's a tough one. My first inclination is Seinfeld, but wouldn't I enjoy something random, like Clarissa Explains It All, or Home Improvement, or Supermarket Sweep, or ER? Wait, ER is still on? Really? Didn't everyone already die in an ambulance wreck/plane crash/ebola breakout/heartache/lack of good scripts years ago?
  

To discuss what went right ...

Andy looked at the flower bouquet in the passenger seat. Silently, for everything that night was about silence, he picked up the flowers, got out of his car parked by his apartment, walked calmly to a nearby dumpster and bashed those motherf'rs in one, sweet blow to the ground before tossing in the remaining stem carcass, as petals fluttered in the air like Forrest Gump's feather.
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That's how my weekend ended. You must be interested, then, to know what led up to that point, right?(If not, dude, what's up? What, you want chain saws and explosions involved? It's a low-budget blog.)
Let's start off with the good...
Saturday was a total wash, weather wise, because Hurricane Anna used the East Coast as the tampon for her rainstorm period. But, I did get to hang out with a new Ladyfriend. So as not to jinx anything with Ladyfriend, especially on the off chance she finds this blog (in that case, um, you look pretty), I'll skip much of the details. It wasn't a date, officially- we met on a friendly level. It was an online connection.
Just know there was bowling involved, and we both got schooled by a neighboring toddler- and you know how I hate that. And Ladyfriend's got lots of wonderful qualities. And, at one point while discussing The Notebook (Good God I end up talking about that movie a lot), I made the off-the-cuff statement that I'd prefer if my wife and I died at the same time to avoid heartache, so maybe it would be best if we did a double suicide. Double. Suicide. My. Words. W. T. H.
There's nothing more attractive to a woman than a man who wants to go all Romeo and Juliet on her in her golden years. What in the world was I thinking.
In any case, given her good sense of humor and my exquisite good looks, everything went well...
And then, dear, dear friends, there was today...I got stood up twice, by the same girl (not Ladyfriend, mind you), in two different towns- although, to be fair, for legitimate reasons.
Want to know more? Check back later (I'm a bigger master of suspense than M. Night Shyamalan), after you've read all of my new, two-part Question and Answer feature with Haute Pocket. If all this doesn't get you through Monday, then what will?
No, seriously. What will? Like, LSD? Heavy petting? Cause I'll do what it takes.
The Q&A will be posted first thing Monday morning, with the second half coming mid-afternoon on Haute's site (in the meantime, check out her recent post about her dog eating $20.)