The One Problem With All New Underwear...


The label on the waistband is hard and scratchy at first. Will continue to irritate until I've laundered them into submission. Meanwhile, I spent the weekend digging into my backside.

I may just rip the fuckers out.

Worked hard at the gym on Saturday, took Sunday off. Had, perhaps, the most delicious ribeye steak I've ever enjoyed in my life at my buds' house Sunday evening.

I'm heading for the gym in mere moments.

I've thought a lot about two friends out there in the blogosphere today, Bigg and Melissa. They are both going through some major life changes. If you're out there, you two sweethearts, just know I am thinking of, and loving, you both.

Here's A Little Tip, Just Between Friends

Do yourself a favor and splurge by buying a complete new set of underwear sometime. The stuff isn't expensive (well, for guys, anyway), and it can really be surprising how retiring your old, tired shorts with new, elastically responsive infrastructure can, well, umm...affect your mood in a positive way!

I'm in a boxer-briefs phase right now (TMI? hmmm?), and when these things get worn out, they look pretty pathetic. The leg parts don't really stay where they are supposed to, and don't EVEN get me started about the slack in the waistband! Well, I have a whole stash of brand-new replacements now, and I think I might have just brought sexy back!


(...crickets chirping...)


Dear GOD, I'm turning into a freak! Really, I need to get laid or something pretty quick.

It's the weekend, people. Tear it up! Me, I'm headed to the "you-know-where". I know, I'm boring. I'll check in with you soon!

C'mon And Squeeze Me Like You Do

While I was going in and out of the hospital with my leg issues earlier this year, I was told by my doctor and his nurses that I should look into "compression socks", since my leg was a little swollen. That and, during all the time I've had people examining me with my legs in the air, I've had it pointed out to me that I am now the proud owner of a couple monster-assed vericose veins in that leg. Not those little, purple-colored, broken capillaries. Oh no, not that pussy shit! I'm talkin' chunks of rigid veiny-veins that would be pure pornography if they were somewhere on my cock.

But, they're not. They are bulging on my freaking shin.

Still, I was all in denial about it.

See, I was certain that the swelling was all due to the trauma the leg was going through. Hell, it was a big ol' hole they cut into that leg! I had never had a problem with my legs swelling before. Give me a chance to heal, damnit! Besides, me in SuppHose? ME? Seriously, fuck that!

So, I ignored the advice and focused on the healing part. And, thank God, I healed.

Well, the swelling hasn't gone down and I can NOT believe it! What the FUCK, people? And the protruding veins that belong on my cock, are still defiantly camped out in Shin-City. There is no denying it.

If I'm really trying to do the right thing by my body, and get healthy and take care of myself, I need to deal with this, yes? Of course I do.

So, last week I marched to "The Comfort Store", a little boutique located, coincidentally enough, right across the street from a major hospital complex during my lunch hour at work. Wall-to-wall stockings and hosiery and sock thangs. I sat in a chair while a very sweet woman measured my swollen leg, then measured the not-so swollen leg. She took the paper with my prescription on it from me and disappeared into the back to find some "socks" in my size, and at the right compression.

As I sat there, I wondered what this was going to cost me. See, it was explained that my insurance would not be covering these things. Okay. I squinted across the room at a display of woman hose stuff. The price tag said $9.99. I groaned, but shrugged. I'll drop some money on a half-dozen of these things, and I'll feel better about the fact that I'm just doing one more thing that was healthy and smart for myself.

When the woman came back, she was carrying two boxes: a pair in black, and a pair in white. She explained how to put them on; it was quite a process. She explained how to launder them: no bleach, no hot water, no dryer.

I needed to be careful not to damage them, she said, so be careful. I shrugged and told her I would. She pointed out that, even under the best of circumstances, they would only last about 6 months. Then, she asked how many pair I wanted to purchase. I shrugged again and said that I guess about six, if they were 10 bucks a pair.

She looked at me like I had lost my mind.

"Ten dollars? What, do you think these are gym socks?"

"Well, okay, how much are they?" I asked.

She turned the bottom of one box up so I could see the price tag. Forty dollars.

Now, there was a vein bulging in my forehead as well!

I think I might have blurted out something really inappropriate like "Are you fucking KIDDING me!?!" - but I'm not sure.

What I'm sure of is the internal dialogue that was going on inside my head.

(cue: tape)
[-I didn't want to wear these fucking things to BEGIN with, and now they expect me to shell out 40 goddamned dollars for the priviledge of joining the legion of Grandpas who wear them with Bermuda shorts pulled up to just under their tits, and with sandals to boot? I AM A YOUNG(ish), VITAL, DETERMINED, (and SEXY) FAT MAN WHO DOES NOT DESERVE THIS INSULT! Are you fucking KIDDING me!?!

-Wait, wait, wait! No one got you into this situation but YOU. Do you want to continue popping pythons all over your legs? Do you really want your calves to look like watermelons? Are you going to do the right thing or not?]

(and...scene)

So, I bought the bitches. Two pair. Eighty unbelievable dollars. What? SIX pair? I don't care what I said. Fuck you.

I moaned and groaned when I got back to work. Told my boss and co-workers how I got ripped off. Forty dollars for a pair of socks! This is what is wrong with the healthcare system, I preached. I wondered aloud how much these things cost in Canada and if I should buy them over the internet instead. I swore that if they didn't make a significant impact with me right away, that I would just grow old with purply-red Geezer legs. I didn't care. Circulation? I don't need no stinking circulation!

I pulled a pair out of the box and put on a sock puppet re-enactment of the carnage at "The Comfort Store". The sock that was me swore like a sailor right on cue. It screamed aloud all the ugly things I held in at the time.

I was venting, okay?


Next morning as I'm dressing for work, I sit down to apply the socks. Man, these fuckers can cling, huh? Took me ten minutes to get them on and adjusted. Pulled 'em right up to just under my knees. Then, I stood up and walked.

Hmmm. They feel good. Not bad at all, actually. I finished dressing and got to work, where I was up and down from my desk all day and up stairs, and down stairs. Sitting and standing and walking. Wow. They don't feel bad at all.

I went to the gym and they looked very much like the other athletic socks around me. Well, maybe worn a bit higher, all right. But I pedalled my ass off and the socks stayed right in place. In fact, my legs felt damned great all through my work out! When I took them off in the locker room, my legs were considerably less swollen and looked pretty fantastic.

You know, when you see an old man walking and he kinda does a little stutter-step, jig-kinda move? I used to think he was just trying to re-arrange his underwear, or trying to shake a testicle back into position. Now, I'm thinking that he's thinking "by golly! these socks make me feel like a stud again!"

...could be...


I've worn them for a couple of weeks now. I swear to GOD, they've given me a spring in my step. My legs don't ache like they used to.

Holy shit! They work!

I love my new socks.

Nice Start To The Weekend!

Just got back from the gym, and really felt good about my workout. Plenty of energy through my first 20 minutes on the stationary bike. Enough, actually, that during my "cooldown" in between sets, instead of having to "walk it off" by lapping the basketball court a dozen times, I moved right to doing some exercises: the dreaded "jimsquats" and the band work. Two sets of 10 on those movements. Then, it was back on the bike for another full 20 minutes of cardio.

I intend to add these extra exercises into my DAILY routine, and save the weight training for Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.

This weekend is Father's Day. If you are a Dad, be sure to bask in the love of your family. If you are a daughter or son and are lucky enough to be able to, be sure to show that man how much you love him.

"You can play the game and you can act out the part
Though you know it wasnt written for you
But tell me, how can you stand there with your broken heart
Ashamed of playing the fool?
One thing can lead to another; it doesn't take any sacrifice
Oh, Father and Mother, Sister and Brother
If it feels nice, dont think twice!

Just shower the people you love with love
Show them the way that you feel
Things are gonna work out fine if you only will..."

Have a great weekend, my friends!

Alive & Kicking

Look, it's the same old, same old here. Sorry that I'm not yapping daily about it anymore. It's as boring to write about as it is to read, I assure you.

Fasting blood sugar : 102
Breakfast : Glucerna and a DanActive
Lunch : Cuban sandwich and fries (I know, and fuck off)
Dinner : Grilled New York Strip, Baked tater, salad

Today is Thursday, which is a weight-training night. I am sticking to my vow of going slowly, and I suspect the feeble amount of weight I am tugging on is ridiculous. In my defense, all I can say is that it is still a challenge for me. Because of my left shoulder injury, my range of motion on that side is really bad. I think I am seeing some improvement, but I'm only 5 sessions in.

I just don't care about results at this point. All that matters to me is showing up and sweating. And, trust me, this I am accomplishing. Results can be measured and noted later.

Something must be going on inside of me, because lately I've wanted to have sex with anything that moves. So, do yourself a favor and keep away from me for a little while.

Consider yourself warned.

Just Asking...

Do I get any points for not referring to "The Vaginal Discharge Commonly Known As Paris Hilton" his week, or have I blown it by mentioning that I haven't mentioned it?

I'm fine, either way. I was just wonderin'.

Fasting blood sugar this morning: 105

Thursday night was the first complete cycle on the circuit by myself. I am one weak bitch, people!

Tonight's "iPod On shuffle" WorkOut Surprise (which occurred right when I needed it, during a cooldown between bike sessions) :

"The Book Of My Life"

Let me watch by the fire and remember my days

And it may be a trick of the firelight

But the flickering pages that trouble my sight

Is a book I'm afraid to write

It's the book of my days, it's the book of my life

And it's cut like a fruit on the blade of a knife

And it's all there to see as the section reveals

There's some sorrow in every life

If it reads like a puzzle, a wandering maze

Then I won't understand 'til the end of my days

I'm still forced to remember,

Remember the words of my life

There are promises broken and promises kept

Angry words that were spoken, when I should have wept

There's a chapter of secrets, and words to confess

If I lose everything that I possess

There's a chapter on loss and a ghost who won't die

There's a chapter on love where the ink's never dry

There are sentences served in a prison I built out of lies.

Though the pages are numbered

I can't see where they lead

For the end is a mystery no-one can read

In the book of my life

There's a chapter on fathers a chapter on sons

There are pages of conflicts that nobody won

And the battles you lost and your bitter defeat,

There's a page where we fail to meet

There are tales of good fortune that couldn't be planned

There's a chapter on God that I don't understand

There's a promise of Heaven and Hell but I'm damned if I see

Though the pages are numbered

I can't see where they lead

For the end is a mystery no-one can read

In the book of my life

Now the daylight's returning

And if one sentence is true

All these pages are burning

And all that's left is

You

- Sting

I Did It!

Had my first session with my trainer tonight. Warmed up by doing 15 minutes on the bike, and then we wandered over to the machines. One machine makes me lift weight by extending my legs, another makes me force my legs under me. Then I pull out this big ball and put it against a wall, centered at the small of my back, and roll with the ball into a squat and then roll back up the wall again.

Gymsquats. Jimsquats. I say this to myself as I do this, trying not to think about the possibility of grunting out some colossal bowel movement under me onto the mat. This is how my sick mind works.

Then, I push and I pull on several other contraptions to work my biceps, triceps, shoulders and back. Followed by some stretching with big-ass rubber bands (again, for shoulders and back).

I end it all with a big ball with sand in it that will (theoretically) help me roll back into a stretched out position without going all the way to the floor. This is, I think, an attempt at working on abdominal muscles that do NOT exist. We'll see how successful that could possibly be.

I'll do this Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays with the bike as well. Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays will be bike only.

My arms hurt just typing now and you're a big stinky poophead and I want my mommy.

I'm a pretty happy fag right now.

Yes, Yes, I'm Still Here

What's to talk about? I ride that friggin' bike like I'm the Wicked Witch of the West, I'm eating very sensibly, (well, except for the french toast and bacon breakfast I had on Sunday. Didn't even enjoy it. Too dang sweet!) and I am marking time waiting for my Tuesday night appointment with the trainer.

I'm up to doing two 20 minute sessions on the bike, with a 5 minute breather in between. Haven't had a day off since last week.

My butt, although still ridiculously big, is solid as a rock.

Fasting blood sugar this morning : 102