Wednesday, 28 November 2007

Wednesday 28/11/07

So here’s an idea.  We all know and love the Eastern European guy from my gym.  If you don’t know and love the Eastern European guy from the gym yet (I wrote about him a few weeks ago), here’s a brief summary: 

The Eastern European guy is a guy who started going to my gym recently and he’s painfully foreign and new to the country and looks a bit lost, plus I don’t think he speaks English very well.  He hangs out with a group of completely destroyed, derelict other Eastern European guys and they all come in and train together after a long day at the building site where they work.  Amazingly, the Eastern European guy has bypassed his class and background and he has a very good body and an OK face.  You know, like me having bypassed the handicap of being Greek and not having a hook nose and untamable hairs all over my body?  A bit like that. 

Mind you, he’s not absolutely gorgeous or anything (the teeth need a complete overhaul and the nose requires at least some quick restructuring) but he’s kinda sexy. 

The main point about this guy though and the reason why we concern ourselves with him, is because he’s crypto-gay.  He looks and stares and walks past and follows and everything else really.  Of course he’s too scared and primitive to do anything about it, so he just lets his homosexual tendencies torture him inside.  Not to mention that if his friends found out they would probably push him off the scaffolding next time they’re plastering a wall or whatever it is that those poor people do for a living. 

By the way, I will refer to the Eastern European guy as Vladimir from now on.  Or Vladdy to his friends. 

Anyway, yesterday in the gym Scott and I were talking to this other guy that we know and we’re all convinced of Vladimir’s gayness and the other guy goes on to say that Vladimir would probably shag a guy but of course he wouldn’t have a relationship or anything, because he’s not ready for that. 

And this is where my idea comes from. 

Next time I see him in the gym, I am planning to pass him a piece of paper with my phone number on it.  Of course I will do this very discreetly and I’ll make sure that his friends don’t see me (because they would kill us both).  I want to see if he will call me or text me or anything like that. 

So I will make sure he’s alone, walk up to him, pass him the piece of paper quickly and walk away before he has the chance to say anything. 

As far as I can see, the possible outcomes are the following: 

1)       He looks at the phone number, stops me on my tracks, punches me in the mouth

2)       He takes the phone number, never calls me, we all get on with our lives

3)       He takes the phone number, calls me, we arrange to meet, he turns up with his Bulgarian posse, the kick me to the ground

4)       He takes the phone number, sends me a few embarrassed texts, we arrange to meet up, he turns up, I fuck him 

I think this pretty much covers everything. 

Do we think this is a good idea?  Should I go ahead with it? 

Finally, well done to Fuzzy Logic for messing with my brain, tampering with my nice neat desk and creating this this morning.

EDIT: I wrote this before I went in the gym today and posting it now.  Anyway, Vladdy wasn't in the gym today but there was another guy there who was tall and blonde and perfect and I'm in love with him and anyway the point that I want to make is that if I actually liked Vladimir I wouldn't even consider going near him (like the tall guy from today), but I'm willing to play games because I don't really like Vladimir all that much, so it's OK.

Tuesday, 27 November 2007

Tuesday 27/11/07

Here’s a reminder that I’m coming to Paris and I would like some gyms recommended to me.  I wrote this at the end of a very long post yesterday so you might have drifted off by then.  And here is the message in internet translator French, because I don’t actually speak French:

Pouvez-vous recommander une salle de gymnastique à Paris ? Quelque part gentil et grand avec une piscine. Peu un gay trop peut-être, mais pas trop gay”

This is actually fun.  I put this back into the translator to change it back to English, then back to French, then back to English.  And this is what came out:

“Can you recommend a room of the gymnastics in Paris? Some divide nice and large with a swimming pool. Not very merry too perhaps, but not too merry”

Wish me luck then. 

Speaking of gyms, today I thought I’d tell the story of my sporting achievement over the years.  I am a natural born athlete of course, just like every other short, small-built gay person.  As if nature hadn’t been cruel enough with me, I am also lazy and unmotivated.  This amazing combination of physical prowess and fierce mental determination has meant that I have been immensely successful in every sport I’ve ever tried. 

Not that you have many choices growing up in Greece anyway; there are only two sports known within the confined borders of my home country: basketball (played at every break during school hours in a grey tarmac court with one basket only and no nets on the hoop) and football (played after school on a grey tarmac pitch where the lack of goals is made up for by strategically placed jumpers as goalposts on the ground). 

I’ve never been keen or actually half-competent in either of these sports and that’s as far as it went really.  I don’t know, if I had more choices I might have found somebody that I’m good at.  But let’s keep in mind that Greece is a country where the terms for American football and rugby are interchangeable because nobody knows what either of them is, cricket, hockey and squash are as offbeat as underwater chess in a more civilized country and tennis is something that most people have heard of, but nobody has personal experience with, a bit like the immaculate conception. 

So basically until I was 18, my only sporting experience was shooting some hoops every now and then, to avoid people calling me sissy too much. 

A few years after I moved to England, and I guess in pursuit of some pre-defined state of masculinity I actually developed an interest in participating in sports.  And these are the sports I tried between the ages of 20 and 25: 

-         Swimming.  I don’t know.  Does this count?  Not really.  It’s kinda gay anyway and it’s not like you drown in testosterone competing body to body against other men.  Anyway, as my Mummy and Daddy didn’t bother to teach me how to swim in the 18 years that I lived with them (mainly because they can’t swim themselves), I thought I’d give it a go.  So when I was doing my Master’s degree and I had lots of time in my hands, I started going to the University swimming pool every day, practicing, reading books to learn how to stay afloat obviously I was too embarrassed to ask anyone to help me – I was 21 for fuck’s sake) and trying to learn new styles.  This actually worked and I can now swim pretty well 

-         American football.  This was part of an attempt to socialize, meet some people and make some normal friends.  Anyone who knows me in real life must realize how absurd the idea of me playing American football really is, as my size is more suited to being thrown around like a ball, rather than being an actual player.  The closest I got to going to American football practice was driving to the club, sitting in the car park with Andrews, listening to the radio for a bit, being too scared to go in and driving back.  Obviously it’s the sport’s loss 

-         Tae kwon do.  Again, this was part of the effort to find a group of friends soon after I moved to Manchester.  Andrews and I actually kept this up for a couple of years.  We got up to our blue belts (you start with a white belt, the black belt is the tenth in order and blue is just halfway through – fifth), but this doesn’t really mean that much to be honest, they’re not that hard to get up to there.  They practically hand them out if you keep going to classes and paying.  Maybe getting a red or a black belt signifies some merit but up to there it’s kinda easy.  We gave up after it became a bit of a drag (the higher you got the more time you had to spend in classes) and our shins had taken enough of a beating from “sparring” in competitions 

-         Rowing.  I took up rowing when I first moved to London.  I went every fucking Saturday and Sunday morning before dawn for 4 months (October-January), froze my balls to death, experienced the crystal clear waters of the Thames in to close proximity, realized everyone else was at least 3 times as tall as me and didn’t have a life outside the sport and never went again.  I actually liked rowing but my height is a serious handicap for that sport (and life in general) and I just don’t want to be a cox either thank you very much 

Is it stupid that I want to take fencing lessons next?  Should I just give up?

Monday, 26 November 2007

Monday 26/11/07

So as you all know the BLR 07 competition ended last night.  And the winner is…Reader No 3, i.e. this guy below.

He actually writes a blog, which can be found here and has an online gallery with more pictures here

Reader No 3 got 60% of the vote, which is obviously more than everyone else put together.  So well done him.  I’m not gonna say who else got what, but the following results are:

One reader got 18% of the vote

One reader got 11% of the vote

One reader got 6% of the vote

One reader got 5% of the vote

Sadly the Best Looking Reader lives 11,781 miles away from London so it might be a bit difficult to overcome the logistical issues of the first part of the prize which is to sleep with me (if he were that way inclined), but on my part I’m more than happy to keep my promise if he can get on a plane and arrive at my doorstep.  So I’m waiting. 

In the meantime I can transfer the £10 I promised, and also dedicate one day’s post to him as the winning contract describes.  I am currently thinking about the feature. 

Moving on for the moment, I wanted to mention a conversation I was having with Mean earlier today.  The background to this is that over the last few months, I have become more and more hesitant to go out / socialize, whether it’s with new people or – worse – with people who I like and are my friends.  For example, in the last month or so, I have cancelled meeting Mean 3 times in the last minute and I have stayed at home instead. 

This might seem a bit personal to put on a blog read by so many people, but at the same time, I am actually not a real person for most of you who are reading this.  So it doesn’t matter. 

The conversation goes a little something like this. 

Mean (referring to me canceling on him again on Sunday): “It seems that your idiosyncrasies are becoming more and more of an impediment to actually maintaining your friendships” 

Me: “I realize that and you’re right.  I’m finding myself in a weird predicament, where I haven’t been out since August and I’m just getting less used to socializing with people” 

Mean: “Obviously when you don't do something for a while it becomes harder to do. I know you haven't been clubbing since August but you just seem uncomfortable being out at all. It just seems a shame that you might be becoming more distant from the people that actually care about you for your personality/wit etc and not whether your body fat is lower than 8% or whether you can see all 6 abdominal squares” 

Me: “But these things don’t matter to me that much either anymore – I don’t socialize with those people either.  I am starting to worry a little too, and I suppose that’s a good sing in the sense that I at least identify there is a problem.  I know whatever I say now will only matter if I actually follow it up, but I should really make an effort to start doing things again and I’ll try to not pull out again if we do something.  Maybe I should stop writing the blog as this seems to be my main social outlet these days”

Mean: “That was one of the things I thought about yesterday...what actually makes you happy anymore? I also know that you're not oblivious to the fact that you've become more socially withdrawn over recent times. Guess you're probably just a person of extremes: hedonism and debauchery followed by nihilism and misery. 

People always say that the key to being happy is learning to let go of the things that control them. Easier said than done though. For you I suppose the body thing was the way of getting people to notice you without having to make an effort to talk to them (it's easier to overcome shyness that way and it puts you in control), and therefore it's easy to think that losing that (even a little bit) might signal a descent into mediocrity. 

Your key problem is this. Most people in exceptionally good shape are bubbly, outgoing, vacuous, shallow and truth be told a bit thick. It makes their pursuit of bodily perfection straightforward in their mind as they can't appreciate that life is more nuanced and has more meaning than looking good. You've got conflict: trying to maintain the perfect body (as it gives you something that makes you stand out from the crowd, which you don't feel your personality does) whilst realising that it is ultimately fruitless and leads to a slight feeling of emptiness inside”

So yeah, the conclusion is that at least I’m now realizing this is not a road I want to continue going down and I should change my attitude before I actually become agoraphobic.

Finally, to close this joyful Monday post, here’s an actual positive story.  I have some days off work next week and I’m going to Paris.  I’m not there for very long, just 2-3 days.  I’ve never been to Paris before so I just want to do the most obvious touristy things, and go to a gym of course.  I know quite a few people from Paris read this (and have helped when I asked relevant questions before),so here it goes again:

What gym would you recommend that I go to?  I would like something very big and quite nice and not necessarily gay, but possibly a little gay.  Also a swimming pool would help.  Please provide name and address.  I will choose one and go and obviously write a review on here.  Thanks.

Sunday, 25 November 2007

Sunday 25/11/07

I’m writing this on the tube on a Sunday afternoon.  I’m on the Circle Line and I’m going home.  This weekend I am very annoyed with everything and on some level I understand that maybe I’m overreacting, but I can’t help how I’m feeling.  Or maybe I am not overreacting and everything is wrong.  Yes, that’s definitely it. 

So these are the events that happen this weekend. 

On Saturday afternoon Scott and I go to the gym, one of the gyms in zone 2, where we don’t go very often.  We do shoulders and abs and there’s a guy there who’s in his late early 40s, but he thinks he’s younger, he’s hanging in there through a fake tan and some Botox injections.  He has big arms in a stretched, drained steroid way and he has no legs (i.e. no leg muscles) and he has an annoying upturned nose and very short dark hair.  I assume that he’s a gay.  Due to his only merit of having overdeveloped arm muscles, Scott is attracted to this person.  Due to the fact that he’ an old guy who’s still relying on sunbeds, going to the gym and cosmetic surgery to get some self worth, I am repulsed by him.  I try to reason with Scott that he’ is not worth looking at twice, but Scott can’t see past anyone’s muscles. 

This I reason 1 why I’m annoyed. 

On Saturday evening Scott is working and I’ve stayed at home and after having my dinner and going to Tesco to do my weekly shopping I decide that maybe I should be a nice boyfriend and go to his house to surprise him when he gets back from work.  Scott lives at the margin of zone 2, on the District Line.  I don’t now how they even let the District Line anywhere near London, because it’s a complete joke, completely unreliable and moves at its own pace. 

So I know that something will go wrong, it will take about 2 hours to get there etc, but I don’t mind – I have my iPod and my new book with me.  I can deal.  

Of course it goes even worse than I had imagined, because halfway there the tube stops and they tell us that we have to get a replacement bus instead.  I try to stay clear of buses band every time one finds its way into my life inevitably something will happen to piss me off.  This time, about 45 minutes after I have set off from home and still 15 minutes away from Scott’s, it occurs to me that I’ve forgotten the keys to his house. 

It’s 2315, Scott finishes work at 0030 in central London, it would take him half an hour to come back and I’m stuck somewhere in zone 2/3 with nowhere to go. 

This is reason 2 why I’m annoyed. 

So just before midnight on this Saturday night, I find myself alone in a suburban pub with a pint of bitter and book, taking pictures of this rare sight on my phone.   And this is one of those pictures:


I have no intention to drink this beer of course – I haven’t drunk alcohol in the last 3 years or so and right now I’m feeling quite annoyed with being stuck there but not as self destructive as to drink a pint of beer. 

And this is what else happens in this pub: 

Some jukebox is playing Self Esteem by The Offspring followed by Come Out And Play by the Offspring, somebody drops a pint, a group of people sing Happy Birthday for a friend twice, No One Knows by Queens Of Stone Age comes on, I am feeling restless, there are two people I fancy, I miss the time when I was living in zone 3, before the gay and the drugs and the sickness and the magazines covers, I look at the people around me and I envy them, Smells Like Teen Spirit plays on the jukebox, I pray that I could turn back time, I quickly lose my faith again, I steal somebody’s baseball cap that I find on a chair, I have no one to flirt with, I wish I could drink my beer and not worry about my abs, I consider going in the toilet and crying, I go in the toilet and put a toilet roll in my laptop bag, I ring Andrews but he doesn’t pick up, I consider getting a job collecting glasses in this pub, I wonder if that would make me happier, I’m wearing a white shirt from DKNY and a rugby top from the Gap and Energie jeans and Timberland boots with the laces undone, Scott rings me to tell me that he’s back home now. 

Then I go find him and sleep. 

On Sunday afternoon, Scott and I are on his motorbike driving around town and we go past the Abercrombie shop in Mayfair and there’s a long queue outside.  This is the first time I’ve actually seen the Abercrombie store, because I have deliberately avoided it since That Story happened.  

Infuriatingly, Scott actually stops outside the entrance, looks in, asks me “what can you see”, I hit him, we both see two girls in bikini tops and a guy with his shirt off standing there, Scott says “wow he has great abs”, I get really pissed off, tell him to drive off. 

I can’t think of anything more embarrassing and cringe-worthy than stopping outside the Abercrombie store to peek inside and catch glimpse of the shirtless door model.  This store is created to appeal to either 15-year old boys that will never grow into men, or 55-year old lecherous old men who have spent a closeted life lusting over the former. 

For somebody like Scott to stop there and stare at some daft model like a desperate queen, it just pisses me off so much.  For fuck’s sake, we ARE those people – we don’t need to stand there and ogle them.  It’s instances like this when I’m actually so pleased to have an attitude and a superiority complex.  (Well…the times when I don’t have self esteem issues and an inferiority complex anyway). 

This is reason 3 why I’m annoyed. 

I think next time I’m looking for a boyfriend I’ll make sure I pick somebody with a bit more dignity and a bit less of a muscle fetish.

Saturday, 24 November 2007

Saturday 24/11/07

So on Thursday I’ve got the day off work and there’s somebody coming to install a Sky satellite dish on my roof.  Blatantly spending 5 hours a day watching rubbish Greek TV is not enough for me, and now I want the worst of British as well. 

Making small talk with workmen is something I find particularly hard to do, as they invariably have two topics of conversation: football and pussy.  And I don’t claim to be an expert on either of those.  

Despite this, Thursday actually goes OK, something which can be put down to the following facts: 

-   The Sky guy (let’s call him Colin) takes an instant liking to me because of my TV.  “That’s a nice TV you’ve got there Mr Preppy.  How much did that set you back?”

-   Colin also likes the area that I live in.  We discuss that there are some amazing houses around and concede that my building is the worst on my street and my flat isn’t in the best condition ever, but it’s a good size.  “How much is your rent here”, asks Colin

-   There are mixed messagess when you come to my house with regard to assessing my sexuality.  For example there is a massive picture of supermodel Gisele Bundchen in a compromising position hanging on my living room wall (straight) but right next to it is a picture of me leaning against a toilet door in a club minutes before passing out with my shirt off (bent).  There are lots of pictures of the Greece football team winning the Euro 2004 (straight) but there is also a Sex And The City boxset and a vinyl doublefold of The Immaculate Collection on a shelf next to the couch (bent).  And of course there is the floor-to-ceiling Nike advert with Josh Lewsey running towards an imaginary try, which can be taken either way I guess.  I suspect Colin goes for the straight option because out of all those things he only comments on the Gisele picture

-   When the conversation inevitably turns to football (England was playing the night before) I manage to blag it and pass the blue collar test, as I have been lucky enough to have been really bored and watched part of the game.  I score extra points by having watched the Greece game too (they were also playing the night before) and provide some extra sporting information not even Colin knew (what a fag). 

Then Colin leaves and I stay at home watching my new TV, playing on the internet and eating soup.  I’m eating soup because I’m feeling quite sick (a quick diagnosis from Donnell via telephone implies gastroenteritis), which also gives me a great excuse to skip the gym.  

Mind you, I’m not complaining, if you’re going to get sick I would definitely recommend gastroenteritis, it does wonders for your abs even more so than a moderate coke binge. 

In the evening I go to Scott’s house and spend the night there (eating more soup) and when we wake up on Friday he starts watching Star Trek repeats, which is his favourite TV programme.  I find Star Trek quite intolerable and it just confirms Scott’s seminally bad taste in everything (men, TV, music, food, clothes, décor) so I collect my stuff, leave, go in a book shop, buy Slaves Of New York by Tama Janowitz, take the tube, go to the gym, do chest and abs, go home. 

At home I set my new internet connection on my Mac quite effortlessly, even manage to set up the wireless, and plan to never leave the house again.  I’m proud to say that this is the first time I’ve typed the blog and also posted it online using the Mac.  I have even disconnected and stored away my PC.  So well done me. 

Finally, I wanted to say that I’m going clubbing again soon (I’m not saying when or where) but it’s going to be in the next 10 days, so you can look forward to reading some more clubbing stories, just like we used to make them here on this blog back in the day. 

Oh yeah and here’s the Gisele picture I have in my living room.

Thursday, 22 November 2007

Thursday 22/11/07

First here’s a reminder that you can keep voting for the BLR 07 competition until Sunday evening. So far the results are as follows:

One contestant has 64% of the vote
One contestant has 20% of the vote
One contestant has 12% of the vote
One contestant has 4% of the vote
One contestant has 1% of the vote

So one contestant is clearly winning then, which I guess is a good sign and means that the Best Looking Reader will be a popular choice. You can still vote here.

Anyway, on Wednesday night I go to bed and I’m reading the final pages of the Reader’s Guide to American Psycho by Julian Murphet. And I as I get to the end there are some suggestions for further reading, which include Tom Wolfe and Ernest Hemmingway and F Scott Fitzgerald, many more books that I want to read and many more things that I want to know but there just isn’t enough time in my life, which I’m quickly running out of.

And this book also depresses me (even though I enjoy reading it a lot) because the writer manages to provide an analysis of American Psycho in a highly sophisticated but still accessible manner, in a way that I could never do even though Bret Easton Ellis’ writing means so much to me. It makes me feel inadequate and not so smart. And this is one of few times I can remember that I wish I were smarter (I usually wish I were better looking) and I find this hard to deal with lying in my bed on that Wednesday night, so I take a Valium followed by a Zimovane and then I fall asleep.

Right, I have now transferred all my music to my Mac and will be getting online on it as well within the next couple of days. Which reminds me, I hope this happens seamlessly and I don’t have any interruptions (I’m also changing providers this weekend), but if I disappear for a couple of days you’ll know why.

However, having transferred my music means that I’ve lost all my play counts and I’m starting from scratch. So no more 95 plays for Samantha Fox I’m afraid.

This also means that I will now stop including play count information for 3 songs at the end of each post, but before I stop I thought I’d show you a list of the top 15 most played new songs that came out in 2007, plus (being the end of the year) my top 5 albums released in 2007.
My most played songs released in 2007 are:

1. With Every Heartbeat – Kleerup ft Robyn (100 plays)
2. Love Is Gone – David Guetta (71 plays)
3. It’s All True – Tracey Thorn (68 plays)
4. Let Me Know – Roisin Murphy (57 plays)
5. Love Is Dead – Brett Anderson (55 plays)
6. Overpowered – Roisin Murphy (44 plays)
7. Earth Intruders – Bjork (42 plays)
8. Future Calls The Dawn – Felix Da Housecat (42 plays)
9. The Prayer – Bloc Party (37 plays)
10. Innocence – Bjork (29 plays)
11. Back To You – Brett Anderson (29 plays)
12. Heart Shaped Glasses – Marilyn Manson (27 plays)
13. An End Has A Start – Editors (25 plays)
14. Brianstorm – Arctic Monkeys (23 plays)
15. Radio Nowhere – Bruce Springsteen (22 plays)

My top 5 albums that came out in 2007 are:

1. Overpowered – Roisin Murphy
2. Volta – Bjork
3. Chase This Light – Jimmy Eat World
4. Brett Anderson – Brett Anderson
5. A Weekend In The City – Bloc Party

If you can be bothered, show me yours.

Wednesday, 21 November 2007

Wednesday 21/11/07 Part Two

So, today I’ve got the story about the time when I visited Bobby’s gym (well, a couple of hours ago) with hilarious consequences.

Before that though: I posted a picture of my bicep earlier today (scrawl down to see it) and one reader left the following comment:

“You gotta do something about those triceps, friend”

Now I don’t know why I need to get defensive about this, but I certainly do. Possibly because I’m insecure. In the picture, you can clearly see I’m flexing my bicep. As anyone in possession of at least one arm will know, this is usually the case: you flex your bicep, your bicep becomes bigger. The tricep doesn’t really come into this at all – it’s a whole different muscle. It’s like telling somebody, “you’re not very tall” when they’re sat down.

Even more confusingly, my tricep is not in the shot at all. You can’t see it. So it’s also a bit like saying to somebody, “you’re looking a bit cross-eyed today Jennifer”, when Jennifer is in bed and wearing a sleeping mask too.

In any case, the triceps are in fact my overdeveloped (disproportionably) muscle group. I had to stop working them out completely about a year ago, because they were overtaking anything else. And here is some photographic evidence:

This is a picture from my first photo shoot ever in May 2005. Look at my arm and tell me I wasn't right to stop training triceps. It's as big as my head.

This picture was taken this evening in my living room. Indeed, my triceps could really use me "doing something" about them.

This picture was also taken this evening in my living room - I don't know why I'm green.

Sorry about the rant, but it just fascinates me how a large number of different people can look at the same picture and see completely different things. In a picture that shows my bicep, somebody feels the need to comment on my tricep. I suppose I can also look forward to posting pictures of my hair and getting complaints that my knees are knobbly.

This is not a dig at the reader at all (sorry if it comes across that way), just an observation on human nature.

Fine then. Now that’s settled (and I’ve lost a reader in the process), this is what happens at Bobby’s gym.

When I go in I see that this gym is big. About 8.5 bigger than my usual one. I go in the changing room and get changed very slowly, keeping my top off until the last moment when I’m just about to step out so as to attract the wandering eyes of any gays that might be around. This is my mission – to evaluate the calibre of the gay population there / find Bobby a future husband / explore the alleged the debauchery and mutual masturbation in the showers post workout.

I go into the gym and walk around at least three times, keeping a straight face but carefully observing all the dudes. At the cable cross over area, I spot this guy in a white vest, blue shorts and obscene sunbed tan and recognize my first candidate.

I start doing bicep curls next to him and catch his eye. Then I catch his eye again. Then I catch his eye again and he smiles at me. Of course I don’t smile back (I never do when “flirting”, it’s too welcoming a sign) but keep giving him sideways glances to make him think I’m interested. That’s it – he’s mine and for the next hour that I’m in the gym, he keeps following me around, working out next to me. Quite a few times I walk to the water fountain which is near the gym exit, and he actually comes there too, just in case I walk into the changing room and he misses it.

Mind you, this is not some great achievement – I realize that this is the guy Bobby warned me about, calling him The Cruiser, because that’s what he does. Stalks people and wanks with them in the showers.

I forget about The Cruiser for a bit and look around for actual nice looking, decent people who are not into public mutual masturbation / a clichéd gay existence / tanorexia.

I identify two people that I can easily fall in love with. These are the people that I recommend to Bobby for future affairs (if he can identify who they are by this vague description):

a) This guy is wearing a black t-shirt, and white shorts. He is not Caucasian; possibly part Arabic? Middle Eastern? Something like that. He has quite long stubble and the biggest legs I have seen outside Josh Lewsey. He is working out with another dude who’s wearing a black t-shirt that says Ultimate Fighting Championship on it, and I get they feeling they might be personal trainers, but not working at the time. I also get the feeling that they are straight, but I never said it was gonna be easy.

Bobby, I would recommend this guy for an extra marital affair, as he’s too sexy to be tied down and doesn’t seem like he has a good job enough to marry.

b) This guy is handsome in a very basic Caucasian way. He is wearing a yellow t-shirt and blue quite baggy shorts. He has brown hair, short stubble and amazing blue eyes that I almost find myself lost into whilst doing ab crunches next to him, but I quickly recollect myself and stop looking to avoid becoming a Cruiser myself. Oh yeah, he also has a quite big tattoo on his left arm (not on the inside like mine – on the outside). I can’t tell what it is, it looks like a blob. Maybe it is actually a blob.

Bobby, I would recommend this guy for your one and only husband, as he’s a sweet little bunny and a nice bloke with a good (but not overwhelming) job.

Do these guys sound familiar?

By that point I’ve been there for 1.5 hours (3 times longer than I usually stay in the gym) and I have exhausted any bicep and forearm exercise I can think of, and myself. I stop at the water cooler to make sure The Cruiser sees me going out and follows me.

Predictably, he does. He’s obviously all geared up for some shower fun, so he follows me and we walk into the changing rooms almost at the same time. Then, just to piss him off, I go in the toilet and stay in the cubicle for 13 minutes, where I browse the internet on my mobile.
When I walk out, he is stood in the changing room wrapped in a toilet after having showered. I catch his eye again (once) take my clothes off but not my underwear, wrap a towel around my waist and walk into the showers.

Hilariously, The Cruiser comes back in behind me (I guess one shower is never enough). I go in a shower cubicle – he goes in the one opposite. I can see in the corner of my eye that he’s looking at me, but I never look up at him of course. Then I draw the curtain in my cubicle (ha!) take my pants off and shower like a normal person.

When I finish and walk back to my locker, I find him there all dry and ready – I guess he didn’t stay in the shower the second time after all after I closed the curtain. I dress without ever looking in his direction again and leave.

So that was fun then. I am now available to experience any other gyms readers may offer me a day pass for in return for a review here. I will only travel within zones 1 and 2, as this is what my annual season ticket covers. Thank you.

Wednesday 21/11/07 Part One

On Wednesday morning I check Google Analytics and find out that I've now had 22 visits from Iceland, but still nobody has messaged me / got in touch even though I would very much like them to.

Then I receive an email from somebody at Boyz magazine who's asking if Scott and I would like to do a photoshoot and be on the cover of their Christmas issue, but I stay strong and keep my promise and reply thanks but no, we don't do pictures / play in magazines anymore.

Then I come home from work because I have half the day off and start watching Greek daytime TV and also take a picture of my bicep as I'm lying on the sofa, because it's looking quite round and I feel ready to go to Bobby's gym and complete my mission.

I'll write about that later - preferably after it's happened even though it seems in blogs recently that you don't have to have lived the experience necessarily to write about it and you can make things up as you go along. In the meantime here's my bicep, a pink t-shirt and some sofa in the background.

I have 2 songs by Eve and I've played them 4 times
I have 15 songs by Everything But The Girl and I've played them 288 times
I have 3 songs by Fabolous and I've played them 11 times