Sitting over beers with our friends, conversations about fashion strayed into the tragic outfits donned at the gym.  We laughed at the misuse of stretch fabrics and the tenacity of those fashion misfits who despite their internalized ferocity should not wear said fabrics.  The next homological step in the confab was the amount of sexual tension that exists at the gym.  Because they don’t read this blog, I’m going to take the liberty and out their naivety.

I don’t personally engage in this facet of gay flagellation, but I am well aware of the shenanigans that go on at the gym.  “Straight boy” jokingly said that he ran into “two of your people” in the locker room.  I wasn’t really offended at this statement because I was fantasizing about straight boys in various states of undress taking note of gay activity (cue porn music).  His child-like telling of this story was adorable, as if he was a toddler describing the joy of DisneyWorld to a Floridian.

Happily enough, another story surfaced about a straight gal in the office who was pursued by another woman.  Speaking for all men at the table, I found the story slightly arousing and expressed my hopes that the straight office girl had a tiny inkling of becoming sapphist.  “Straight boy’s fiancee” smiled and said that she would be honestly flattered if thrown into that situation.  Without skipping a beat, straight boy turned his head and grinned from ear to ear.

What have we learned?  The plan for gays to tear the fabric of society is unfounded, blame it on the dirty fantasies of straight men.

I write this very personal entry because I know that I’m going to get through this. I will look back on this and see that the world isn’t a horrible place, and no personal hardship is insurmountable.

In the past few days, I haven’t had a manic moment to myself. I don’t particularly care for things to be appealing, alluring, or exciting. I have no genuine want for entertainment apart from that of which have been forced upon me by the entreaties of friends or family. I have no interest in making things look, taste, feel, smell good nor do I have the energy to pass judgement. I am seriously questioning why I get up at a merciless hour to serve developers who take for clamor my assistance yet find it uncivil when I counsel them blithely and bluntly.

My indecision is getting the best of me and I’d like to rationally figure it out, but I want to blame it on forces beyond my logical control. I’m not blaming the world for my problems because too many people confuse the lives they make for themselves for “the world”. No, I’m placing blame on things hindering my production of testosterone, or T. T is the hormone of want and desire, it aids your brain to do the aforementioned tasks that I’m refusing to do. Boldness and confidence are bolstered by T and I have jokingly blamed moments of weakness on my (unmeasured) level of T. I don’t have sexual problems or any signs of my pubescence waning, so I’m producing enough to get by as a seemingly normal human male. I’m just asking for a boost of T to get me over my flat sense of everything.

Now is the time of year where waking up is even more of a struggle knowing that there are cold winds and various forms of rimy precipitation ready to make the day worse than it already is. Fatigue and want of convenience stifles my creativity and I walk out the door looking not as the fashion plate that I would like to be, but more like an outmoded university professor of arcane subject matter. I have taken to wearing a sweater and shirt combination which in the dreary light of the morning is acceptable, until it is further examined in the fluorescence of my cubicle.

Looking around the office it is hardly an offense, in fact it is a welcomed change of pace compared to the wrinkled shirts and pants of the nerd army that sit amongst me, but this is no excuse or my behavior. I need to stop wearing this safe and predictable uniform.

Ok, I know given the venue I shouldn’t be complaining about this but I was at the chinese buffet this weekend for a family get-together. I am the most reclusive member of my family and my presence is a pleasant surprise (at least I like to think it is) to those who regularly attend functions. While chatting about the lack of excitement in my life, my aunts honed in on one of their favorite subjects… my fat. Yes, I did eat a lot and I wasn’t feeling the most svelte that day so it was exhilarating to hear the cackling women say they noticed that I lost weight. Now not completely true, I am the same weight that I have been for the last few years, but I have noticed that I’m fitting into smaller clothing. Riding high on this compliment, I was sent crashing down when I felt a hand pinch the skin underneath my chin and someone saying “yeah you lost this”.

I’ll admit, I have some chin fat but I didn’t know that my family was watching it with disappointment during my more plush years.