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.

Fat Boy Running: The Final Update...Or is it?

Fat Boy Running, Part 2

Fat Boy Running

Yes, I Said Tire Iron!

I Am Both a Lesson to the World and a Lumberjack

Ducktails....Ooo Ooo

If I Had Only Known

This is dedicated to Mrs. Robinson.  You know who you are!


A couple of months ago, I went to the doctor because I had a horrible cough that I couldn't seem to get relief from.  Turns out, I had bronchitis.  This was doubly sucky, as I was leaving for vacation the next day.  Neither of those is the real point of this story though.  See, I have an unwavering need to share.  Privacy?  Pish! (Okay, maybe that's not 100% true, as I do value my privacy; I just like to tell stupid stories about my life; of show pics of me doing ridiculous things like ripping my pants; or the occasional flash of ass.  Always in a specific context though.)

Anyway, at this visit it was discovered that I had high blood pressure.  I mean, do the reading again because it can't be right high.  I'm talking on the verge of a heart attack or stroke high.  So, in a call for honesty, my number was...........192/125.  WHAT?!?  SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!!!!  My pulse was in the low 140's.  Can you say holy fuck?!?  (I'm super competitive, so you know I'm totally like, mine's bigger than yours!  Pluuuuuuh!!!!  In this case, it is; maybe in the other case you're thinking of, it is too.  Again, not the point of this story.)

I knew it was high, but I didn't realize just how high it was.  So of course, my bronchitis took a back seat to this crazy number.  An EKG was performed with no abnormal results.  So naturally, the doctor felt the need to ask if I take stimulants.  To which I replied, "you mean like coffee"?  Him: Do you take any STIMULANTS?  Me:  Oh.  NOOOOOOOOOO!  (I'm totally a good boy; I just like to drink a little).  I'm not sure what it is about me that leads health care practitioners to think I'm under the influence.  Look folks, I'm just a little weird.

I left with a prescription for blood pressure medication, an antibiotic for the bronchitis and some vicodin to help me sleep.  Also, a follow up visit was scheduled to check in on me after my return from vacation (which was awesome, btw).

Flash forward to the day of my follow up visit.  I was chatting with a friend who was lamenting being topless in front of the young chiropractor/massage person.  I made a comment about hoping I don't end up naked at my blood pressure follow up.

So, waiting at the doctor's office and the CRNP comes in to do the exam, which I'm fine with.  I did feel a bit like a giant next to him, as there was at least a foot difference in height.  (HULK TIMMY SMASH!)  We spent time discussing my blood pressure and the proposed course of treatment and I'm taking notes and making jokes, cause that's what I do.  He's looking at random body parts and says, "Okay, now it's time for the male exam".  Really?  Is it my fault for making the comment earlier?

Mind you, I have no problem with being nude in front of folks.  People I know or strangers, I don't care.  However, it was odd considering I was there for a blood pressure follow up and funny because I made a comment about hoping to not end up naked.  Whatever.  So anyway, he's all, stand here and pull your shorts down.  So, giant Timmy is standing in front of him and I thought he said "sit in this chair".  Which was just a regular chair, with no paper or whatever.  My natural reaction was to say, "you want me to put my naked ass on that chair?!?"  He said, no and I felt super classy.  (I'm talking classier than normal.  I can't imagine what any passerby in the hall thought.)

The next thing I know, my boys are getting jingled and I'm on the verge of laughing, because I'm thinking of the conversation from earlier in the day.  So there I am, with the short guy bouncing my balls and alternately thinking don't laugh/don't get hard (what, so I like my balls jingled on occasion.  Too much?).

Then it was over.  Thankfully, before I embarrassed myself further.  Had I known I was going to be naked, I would have worn nicer shorts.  Not that they were full of holes or anything, just very boring.  I might have worn a fair pair with mustaches all over or something nice.  Yup, that was my lesson.  No boring underwear when visiting the doctor.

Just so you know, my blood pressure is much better, as is my pulse.

Jingle Jingle!

But is it Art?

Juice Update #2: The Truth About the Juice

Juice Update #1 aka Ginger is a Hateful Wench!

It's All About the Juice!

I Can Hear the Banjos!