So, in addition to everything else I've been doing (which is why my posts are so infrequent), I have been trying to lose weight. About a year and a half ago I had several inches of my intestine removed. My surgeon said those inches were normal, healthy, and fine, except that they were significantly narrower than the rest of my intestines. He thought it was congenital and that it explained issues I've had all my life. Suffice it to say that I am now able to eat and *ahem* process things which would have previously been both unlikely and very time consuming in a remarkably short time. The end result was that I shoved my face with everything I had ever avoided eating. And there were no immediate adverse reactions.
Well, it took over a year, but I gained about 20 pounds. If you knew almost anyone in my family, you would only express scientific interest that it was a mere 20 pounds. I don't know how I have remained relatively svelte, unless my mother and father (some of the rare exceptions to rampant obesity in their respective families) were genetic anomalies and I inherited this from them. For instance, my aunt has been unfairly compared to Ursula the Sea Witch (unfair to poor, unfortunate Ursula, mind you) and has been known to wipe gravy off her chins with a towel at Thanksgiving dinner. Classy.
So, I was apparently blessed with a good metabolism -- until I get to be a certain size. I inherited my mother's height (or lack thereof) and so 20 pounds is considerable on me.
I have attempted to diet (as in, not eat chocolate, hamburgers, pasta, bread, etc. in immeasurable quantities). My friend had me download an app called Lose It! and, if nothing else, it makes me aware of all the bullshit I shove into my face. I lost 10 pounds in about a month.
And I wait on the Plateau of Pain.
This has forced me to the gym. Gods help me.
The things I have seen! A guy better suited to modeling than any earthly career looked at me as I was passing, said something, smiled, dropped his towel, and, still smiling, began to open his mouth to speak to me. I, of course, ran. It wasn't until later that I considered he may have wanted my gaze, or something else rather more licentious. I doubt it still, but...I suppose if someone else had that experience I would have suggested the very thing I currently laugh at -- there was some interest. I take pride in my intelligence, but it absolutely leaves a concave in my senses when someone might possibly be hitting on me.
I have seen couples with a distressing surplus of public affection. One in particular, she very hot and him merely adequate, could not bear to be separated through a set. They took turns, kissing and fondling between those sets. Given my previous experience when leaving the locker room, I thought I might have unwittingly entered Sodom and Gomorrah. Too much PDA between any couple makes me cranky. I wanted to shout, "Oy, Hansel! Gretel! You're leaving a trail of lube and nasty juices on the equipment! Dry it up!"
Another very attractive, very gay male with a muscled chest Dolly Parton would be envious of was involved in a facetime chat with someone while he did one set. Phone in his crotch, looking up at his finely chiseled features. When that ended, he took a picture of his chest -- twice -- and uploaded it onto a web site. (Our machines were fortuitously (?) situated to where I could see all this, even with my blurry vision and looking very infrequently) What I didn't see, I didn't want to. He then moved to another machine right next to me, smiled amiably, and actually proceeded to work out. His first set corresponded with my last, and I saw him take another picture of his chest as I fled. What kind of comparison was he hoping for?
I used another machine. He was on his still, unmoving, on his phone. I finished there and went upstairs to get on an elliptical machine and worked out for 30 minutes. There are mirrors all over the gym and I was still able to see him, which I did out of aghast curiosity. He stayed there for another 15 minutes doing one set. Total. He then pranced upstairs, passed me, and walked to the sit-up benches. I no longer cared to look, but I did anyway once or twice. I either had damnable timing or he did not move. Once. He walked by again and smirked, so I can imagine my glances were less than subtle. I cursed my indiscretion, if for no other reason than that he clearly thought I was interested. He was very pretty, but I believe there is only room for one other entity in his life -- his ego. It taxes my resolve to coexist in the same room with someone such as he, so even had the offer been extended, I would have had to decline. Guys like that only want clones of themselves. They are eights looking for elevens and will settle for nothing less.
Humility is sadly underrated.
I almost went face-to-chest with some wall of beef in one of those hallway which-way-are-you-going misunderstandings. I cackled, and it sounded high and crazed in the hallowed halls of Gay Church, as it was once referred to in Will and Grace.
I am apparently exceedingly awkward. I also have little control over my expressive face and my mouth. I should never be allowed in public.
There were other guys checking themselves out, bro-ing each other, slapping palms, grunting, laughing loud so all the little people stare (as P!nk once said), and generally acting with total, unabashed douchery. Where else would one expect beefed-up douchebags to hang out, if not the gym? I hated them all.
And, sadly, I would have had sex with almost every last one of them. I would hate myself in the morning, and them even more, but such is the way of a sad, apparently typical gay male.