March 23, 2006

Solo Act.

Earl is out of town on business tonight so that puts me in bachelor mode. I’ve been looking forward to going to the gym all day (get up off the floor, it’s not that unbelievable) so after eating a relatively healthy dinner and letting that digest for a little bit, I made the trek to the gym where I decided it would be a cardio night.

I started out on the treadmill, doing about 25 minutes. I know, seasoned gym people would say “big deal”. Oh well, I’m just starting this whole gym thing again. I ran half of the routine and walked at a fairly good clip for the remainder of it. Somewhere long ago I read that you should alternate between walking and running so your heart rate goes up and down, up and down, forcing it to work harder and do more good things to your body.

Thank the universe I don’t have hair because had I shaken a head full of hair I would have showered those around me with sweat. I think I turned 18 shades of red. I don’t like to think I was soaked, rather, I glistened.

Feeling all limber and whatnot, I decided to try one of those glider thingees that swings your arms and makes like you’re a gazelle. I did that thing for 10 minutes. More sweat, more glistening.

After then getting on a cross country machine and basically spazzing out because it wanted to swish when I wanted to swoosh, I decided to calm down a bit, gulp a 24 oz bottle of water and head to the locker room.

As soon as I walk into any locker room, in my mind I am transported back into junior high school when I was all intimidated by the upperclassmen we had to share the room with. There are big, buff guys everywhere, peppered with a few older guys that have obviously done nothing but maintain their health their entire lives. Men are shootin’ the breeze, showering (don’t look too long!), shaving and getting ready to go lift weights or head home after lifting every weight in the place. Then there’s me and I can’t shake that image of myself I had when I was 13 – scrawny with a paunch, unable to grow any sort of facial or body hair and thinking that my homosexuality is glowing like a neon light. Of course, it’s just paranoia doing it’s thing because no one even notices that I’m in the locker room with them. Besides, the paunch is disappearing, the flame is kept to a low pilot light and I have a full beard now.

I guess I’m just one of the guys now.

I’m Cheap.

Whomever I’ve dated in the past should consider themselves pretty lucky. I’m cheap.

As I’m sitting here eating my lunch, I’m discovering that I enjoy ramen noodles (or a healthy equivalent) much more than some sit down lunch at a fah-fah-fah-fah-fah type place. With me it’s just add water, zap it in the Radarange, and viola, instant goodness.

A rather uppity restaurant opened up recently across from my office building. Everyday I walk by en route to my car to go home for lunch with my gray and orange lunchpail from Target in tow. I’ve noticed a couple of glances in my direction as I walk by and I can just hear the fancy business suited woman sitting in the window with her $10.00 sprig of lettuce and $5.00 glass of mineral water. “He carries a lunch pail. Let them eat cake. Must be he can’t afford a place like this.”

Who would want to?

If I’m going to slap down some dough for a lunch, I want it to have some substance to it. I don’t need food that dances. I don’t really care about presentation, as long as its recognizable and not a color like fucia, it’s edible. And whether it’s a sandwich, a burger or a soup and salad, it better fill me up but good. I have no need for my taste buds to be tempted by some exotic spice that’s probably going to give me hives or the runs. When it comes to food, kiss (keep it simple stupid). I think that’s why Earl and I gravitate toward diners when we’re on the road, the food is relatively inexpensive but wonderfully good and doesn’t have all the attitude that comes along with an expensive meal.

So to the fancy woman in the restaurant window with entirely too much Aqua-net in your hair, I can hear your little snarky laugh. And I don’t care. I’m proud that I’m a cheap date. Don’t let the exotic spices catch up to you!