Are You Stalking Me?

For some reason, I draw the oddities in the locker room.  I suppose these occurrences are not oddities to others; however, to me, they leave room for pause.  Actually, I'm sure it has to do with some level of immaturity on my part, mainly because when presented with such an odd situation, I am inclined to fits of laughter.  But, I can't do that in a locker room, because it's a naked place.  Some folks would be uncomfortable and offended.  They should be more concerned with offending my eyes and my sense of smell, yet they aren't, so I'm not.

Today, I was changing after a brief run.  (Sidebar -- I've had a cold and a pulled muscle in my back AND some unbelievably ridiculousness work nonsense to deal with, so I haven't been getting the fitness time that I need.  As I've worked so hard to lose weight, I have no intention of putting it back on.  Also, it's a total stress reliever for me.)  Suddenly, a figure appeared beside me in a towel.  I saw him glance at me once, then again.  Perhaps he was feeling me out before (STOP IT!  THIS ISN'T PORN!) saying hello.

I realized who it was.  I said hi.  Had thoughts to previous odd run-ins and then turned to the side to keep from laughing.  (Let me level set this -- fucking work phrase -- it's no one particularly vile, it's just uncomfortable for me because of who he is.  I'm not telling, because folks who know me will know, but, um, yeah...go with it).  This is a person of some authority, so it makes me uncomfortable when I'm in a position where I have to have a naked conversation with him.  I really don't need for him to be talking and FLOP, Little Marin pops out.  It's just weird.  (I recognize how immature this is on my part, but seriously, sometimes I'm such a 14 year old boy at heart.  Seriously, a well placed fart and I'm going to crack up). 

Mind you, this time I was able to have a full on, face to face conversation.  (That's right, bask in my naked glory, Marin!)

Previously, it was even more awkward.  As in, I had to turn away completely to keep from laughing.  (See above; no guy wants you to laugh at him in the locker room). 

Though today's conversation was uncomfortable, as he kept rambling while someone was in between us changing.  Normally that guy is me and I feel weird, so I feel his pain.

Anyway, the point of this story?  No one needs to be surprised by a bare Marin.

(Not as) Fat Boy Running (An Update...in Technicolor!)

Starfucker, Just Like my Daddy; or, DO YOUR HISTORY!

We're Queer so that Shit has to be Exciting!

Introducing...BILL!

Fat Boy Running Update (Yes, I'm still Fat)

I broke down and rejoined the “cult”.  (I’m using the parenthesis to indicate alleged, so no one decides to sue me, or some other such nonsense).  By “cult”, I’m referring to Weight Watchers, not Scientology.  You know, alleged cult.  (Covering bases, folks). 

Anyway, I entered the program (not rehab) several years ago and lost 30 lbs.  Then I left, because there are some culty acting motherfuckers going to the meetings.  Seriously.  You don’t need the many items with the company logo to be successful.  It also helps if you don’t head straight to the nearest fast food establishment after the meetings.  (Put down that fry!)

After I quit attending meetings and stopped adhering to the program, I gained some weight.  By that, I mean a lot of weight.  Seriously, fat boy running.

I’ve tried several diet and “lifestyle” changes since then and I’m still pudgy.  (TUBBY TUBBY 2 X 4!).  So, I decided to give it another go; however, no meetings this time.  (Seriously, last time around, I got stink eye from the attendees after I lost a little weight.  I thought they were gonna mob me in the parking lot and beat me with potato chips…I mean, healthy snack options).  I’m having moderate success, though it is early in the program, so hopefully it will all work out.

If not, I’ll suck it up and visit them in person.  Then I’ll head to the nearest Scientology center so I can have my Thetans measured.  Then I’ll swing by the “cult” of Wal-Mart for superstore things. 

Alleged cults.  Lovely places, filled with lovely people. 

Yup, well, then that happened.

My Phobia Takes Over

Let me start by saying that I am pee shy.  I don't deny it, so I have no problem putting it out there for folks (unless you are talking about the "it" down below when I am urinating).  For those of you who don't know, a man who is pee shy has a difficult time urinating in front of other people (does this apply to women as well?).  I can't explain this phobia (paruresis -- well, look at that, it has a technical name).  I don't have any issue with being naked in front of others, though I probably should with my body in it's current state (see fat boy running posts).  So why am I unable to urinate in front of almost every other person, known or stranger (though it's easier if it's a stranger -- go figure).

I probably should have started this post with an apology.  So, though a paragraph late, I apologize for the nature of this post.  I'm sorry for discussing urination and my penis.  Although, I am not sorry for my penis -- it's quite lovely, or so I've heard.  (Ugh).  I'm going to apologize again for going in that direction.  Sigh.  You'll need to bear with me for a moment, while I collect myself.  You know, essentially.  (Yup, mean girl here).

I have shared the bizarre actions that I have been subjected to in private public places (restrooms/locker rooms), so I thought I needed to take a moment and share my own shameful action.  Though it was unintentional.  It's not like I was knowingly whipping a towel violently, like some tiny Asian men I have encountered.  By tiny Asian men, I mean one tiny Asian man.  I'm not trying to stereotype an entire group of people by saying they all like to play towel helicopter.  (What?!?)  I should refocus now, sorry...again.  (FYI, for anyone who is wondering, I am completely sober right now, though I can understand why my rambling would have you fooled into believing something else).

The following occurred earlier today in a men's restroom in my office building.  The following is my internal monologue as I was trying to relieve myself at the urinal and another man entered the restroom.

Ugh.  Go to the stall.  Go to the stall.

Damn.

Okay, focus on the wall.  Focus on the wall, don't even make it look like you might me trying to look anywhere else.  Wall.  Focus to the right.

Okay, that's good.  Seem to be okay.  Sounds like he's having trouble.  Good, I hate when it's just me.

 Is it weird that I'm eating an Altoid at the urinal?   OH MY GOD, HE CAN HEARING ME CRUNCHING SOMETHING!!!  Now he probably thinks I'm a big freak because I'm eating something while I piss.  Oh fuckballs!

(This is the moment, where I inexplicably find myself choking on pepperminty Altoid flavored spit.  I only wish that I were kidding).

Oh crap.  Choke.  Choke.  Shit, really?!?  Just keep swallowing quickly.  He must think I'm a freak.  Shit!  He's probably going to tell folks about this.  That's exactly what I would do.  Choke.  Swallow. (I  recognize the unintentional innuendo).

Oh good, I'm finished.  Wash hands; get out!

Needless to say, I washed my hands quickly and practically ran from the room.

My shame seems to know no bounds.

I'm sorry.  You know...again.