Not good with new people. But Grindr...???

As a general rule I like people. When I am
around people I know I have a good time. I’m relaxed.

I’m not good with new people. New people
scare me. The running joke at work is that it can be years before I remember
your name. It’s the whole polite thing that makes me nervous. I’m not very good
at being polite. In fact for a Communications Professional it is an outright
miracle I’ve ever been able to hold on to a job at all. Let alone be any good
at it.

Around my friends or in the office I am
possibly the rudest, crudest man in the world. Familiarity for me breeds
offensiveness. My ‘go-to-one-liner’ will always be crass. It’s how I role and
30+ years of conditioning.

But online, with the giant buffer of the
computer screen, I am nowhere near as uncomfortable with new people as I am in
person. Taking even the briefest moment to compose a (semi) polite response
makes a huge difference for me. I’m even sure some people who don’t know me in
person could actually think I am quite lovely from what they know of me online.

Which leads me to my problem.

I’m newly single as of earlier this year
and slowly but surely I’m putting myself back out there again. I’m jumping on
the dating Merry-Go-Round. And having been ‘coupled’ for such a long time it’s
a whole new world compared to the last time I was single. Now, everything
happens online. And I mean EVERYTHING! Especially for the gayers. Just Grindr
alone has completely and dramatically changed dating in the gay community.

An example of a Grindr homepage

For those unaware of Grindr… It’s a
GPS-based messaging system for the hummersexuals. It’s an iPhone app (the
reason why all gayers have iPhones!) that when you turn it on it tells you how
far away other gayers are – within metres. It is truly the greatest invention
the world has ever seen. And as it is culturally acceptable within the gay
community, everyone is incredibly direct about what they are looking for –
chat, dates, relationship, a root, any and all of the above. It’s the envy of
all straight men.

You check out their pics, you check out what
they are looking for, you check out if you know anyone or have been there
before. You then instant message with who ever and as many as you want while
you find what you are looking for. Basically it means that you can pick up
without leaving the comfort of your own lounge. My theory is that it has made
gay men the laziest species in the world. It’s easier for the gayers to find
‘company’ than rabbits.

A Grindr profile

But back to my original story.

So I’m putting myself back out there.
Chatting to boys all over the place. Online I am somewhat polite,
semi-intelligent, mildly amusing. But as you know, in person I am bordering on
being a complete asshole. So I’ve been chatting away for a while now but at
some point you have to put your money where your mouth is (or where you want it
to be) and actually meet the boys your chatting with.

A Grindr chat

Which, finally, leads me to my dilemma. Who I
am in person can be very different to who I am online – especially when
flirting with boys. When I actually go on these dates, and with the existing
familiarity we’ve developed online, is my opening line going to be “What the
fuck have you done with your hair?”. Or “Ohhhh, I see you’ve stacked on some
weight!”  

I just don’t know if I can trust myself to
be polite with new people. On a date. The thought of being polite throughout a
whole meal sends shivers of fear up my spine.

This is all too much for a 39 year old to
learn.

I am starting to think that my Grindr profile
should come with a warning…

“May seem like someone you’d like to meet
now but chances are he’ll be VILE by dessert.”

This ended up much longer than originally anticipated
so ‘the actual dates’ will become Part 2 of this post at a later date.

Also, its really important to me that you know I have taken all these pics from the Grindr website and haven't breached the privacy of anyone on Grindr. 

Cause that would just be fucking rude!

There's a Bear in there!

Oh dear. I am a princess after all. I thought being nearly 40, carrying a few extra kg and not shaving as often meant that perhaps I was manning-up in my older age.

No. It does not. I am as big a princess as ever.

My friend The Sculptor has found a community he loves hanging out with, the Bears. They are a community-within-a-community of the Gayers. In a nutshell, and with sweeping generalisation, the Bears have lots of facial and body hair, tend to be large, wear lots of leather and flannel. And drink beer. And they love to party together.

Bears are hairy. Fact.

I’m sure there is much more to it but as I’ve only just dipped my toe in at this time I am far from an expert.

The Sculptor roped me into going to one of the Bears annual dance parties this weekend, I was dead keen at the time. Never really found my clique on the gay scene even after being a professional gayer for so many years. Hardly a Muscle Mary or a Gym-boy, indie/alt inner-West scene is completely foreign, Drag Queens scare me and I am two decades past Twink. I was excited / scared about this party. There ended up being a clash of dates with my little resort holiday with Lady M so had to pull the plug on The Sculptor. SI instead I took baby-steps into the forest full of Bears.

They're recruiting! But do they really want me?

Instead of the big dance party I went to a warm-up Bear gathering on Friday night with The Sculptor. He was up from Melbourne and staying with me at Man pit. He practically dressed me. 90% of my wardrobe was not Bear-attire. What, a low-cut disco top, skinny jeans and a dress boot don’t cut? No.

After about 4 costume changes I’d never looked or felt so butch! I had to take all my jewellery off and use as little hair product as possible, can you imagine? I felt primitive. Then the cruncher – no frangrance. “What, no Chanel??? Are you fucking kidding me?” I would have no friends The Sculptor assured me. I was willing to risk it, I snuck a quick spritz as we walked out the door.

Talk about fish-out-of-water! I had no idea so much facial hair existed. Did I miss a memo? And tight t’shirts filled with either huge muscles or beer guts. Why was everyone so tall? Once you get over the incredibly intimidating look of these gents it was a delightfully friendly crowd. For an aging-wannabe-twink like me this was a whole new world. After 15years on Oxford St I’m still spreading my wings.

The Sculptor is sooooo in his element. I went to a bar with a  similar crowd in Melbourne and one of his friends said to me “he’s this years IT Girl!”. So true, The Sculptor is on Fire. He knew loads of gents. I even had some friends there, but sadly they weren’t wearing leather. Granted, I got very little attention. They could see through my fake wardrobe and probably smell my Chanel, they could tell I wasn’t one of them.

Me and The Sculptor

So at a very respectable hour for me I packed my self off home with only a slight wobble to my step. Smiling. Very glad that I went but even more glad I’m not going to the big dance party. I think that would have been too much for my virginal ways. Dance parties for me are mini-skirts and tassled arm braids, not leather harnesses and chain mail.

Well not yet anyway. But if you see me with a beard and ripped flannel shirt than you know all bets are off. 

One of The Sculptor's sculptures and yes that is a giant penis.

If you want to know more about the work of The Sculptor, head here!

Bangers! Whatcha got for me?

In just over a week I will have landed in Bangers! No better place to spend your 39^th Birthday than Bangkok.

I’m fleeing the city for the big day cause there ain’t much to celebrate at 39. That’s not because I’m unhappy or anything, but with the huge celebration of my 40^th fast approaching, anything this year pales in comparison. I want to save all my party-fever for next year’s extravaganza. Oh its gonna be massive. 4-0 deserves nothing less.

So for this year I’m sneaking off to Bangers for a lazy 6 days of shopping, eating and drinking just to be completely self-indulgent. Have booked into a fabulous hotel, the Lebua Tower Club. You may recognise it from The Hangover 2 cause that’s where it’s set. I am going to be SOOOOO South-East Asian glamorous!

Lebua Sky Bar

But I need your help. I have only ever spent 24 hours in Bangers so I’m not really sure to do with my time there. I need your tips and recommendations. Like I said, I want to be completely self-indulgent, so here are the kind of places I’m looking for…

* Fabulous, gorgeous day spas

* Beautiful restaurants

* Shopping centres that sell everything you could possibly want to buy

* Bars that are crammed full of gorgeous people

* Nightclubs that make me look pretty

Now having said that, there are also things that I am NOT looking for…

* Any act that involves a ping-pong ball

* Any bar where you slip someone money for anything other than a drink

* I do not want to have “now is that a man or a woman?” go through my mind

Flood me with your hot tips and recommendations. I’m up for anything as long as it is a little extravagant or too much fun to handle.

Would love to hear what you think!

Thanks all, appreciate your help.

xoxoxo

I've got nothing today except the shits! Why?

I'm getting pretty organised with this blogging thing now and I've even been known to put some thought and planning into it. I was planning on an insightful, witty piece for today on the weird things about being single but yesterday left me very sad, tense and with the shits. Here are the reasons why...

I spent six and a half hours on the road in yesterday's weather which I think would make anyone anxious. All drivers were so tense you could feel it. It was an open road drive on a freeway and I guarantee you there was not one car speeding. You just felt on edge the whole time. It was so exhausting. 

Then in the final stages I passed by the horrific accident northbound on the F3. You knew immediately that there must have been lives lost. It was an incredibly sad sight, and just so eery. Emergency services were everywhere and they were still working on one of the cars. Heard on the radio moments later they were still trying to rescue passengers. Your heart broke for those involved. One fatality, two rushed to hospital. Devastating. 

As horrific as that accident was, I believe there would have been many more except everyone on the road was being so careful and cautious yesterday. THANK YOU FELLOW DRIVERS! I feel very reassured that when it gets tough most drivers forget about time, rushing and whatever else is going on in their lives and just focus on safety. Prevented many more accidents I'm sure - and saved lives!

The thing that gave me the shits yesterday, and it is incredibly superficial and silly in the grand scheme of things, was that after my dramatic drunken injuries on Saturday night I am a physical mess. Can't believe I'm 38 and still falling over. Not sure which to blame more, the slipping or the intoxication, leaning towards the intoxication. Old enough to know better that’s for goddamn sure!

So now I am limping around with a sore knee and corked thigh with a giant scab on my forehead. I'm going to have to wear a hat to work cause I can't do my hair and no one should have to look at it. Yes, yes it’s a completely superficial wound which will be gone in a few days, but its still gives me the shits I have it at all. But in comparison to other events of yesterday it is ridiculous to even bring it up.

Sadness for the life lost, tense from the driving and shitty at my own stupidity means not the post I'd planned today. 

Sending deepest sympathies to the family and friends of the driver who lost his life. So unbelievably tragic.

Mid-Life Crisis hits early!

You may find what I'm about to say shocking and disturbing.

I’ve got a horrible, horrible feeling that I am in the early stages of a mid-life crisis. I don’t want to prematurely inflame the situation but I really get the sense I am only a few years off the stereotypically tragic midlife crisis with all the clichéd trappings.

Now we’ve all mocked and laughed at celebs who’ve so obviously gone through it, and we’ve whispered and gossiped about our friend’s dads and workmates who go all MLC. I’ve enjoyed this as much as anyone. But now I think I get it, I understand it, and this is not something to be laughed at. It is a deep-seeded, psychological issue that I can’t seem to control.

Classic MLC

Let me take you through a few of the early warning signs that I am currently experiencing…

Now that I’ve grown my hair into a quiff that resembles Andrew McCarthy in the 80’s I am desperate to get some frosted tips! I would just kill for some beautiful honey highlights. Even if it was just through my newly acquired floppy fringe. Now I know that a man of a certain age should never ever get foils, but that doesn’t change the fact that I really, really want to.

Fabio I adore your frosted tips.

I’ve started dancing again! I actually believe I’m a real groover on the dance floor – I’ve got my mojo back. I haven’t danced, like in a nightclub, for years and of late I am literally pushing people off the podium. Just this weekend I was whipping out some of my very best moves. The harsh reality is they look more like a Young Talent Time performance than booty shakin’ the young folk are bustin’ out. I think at one point I even did a grapevine. The moment I do the ‘wave’ I will be kicked out for sure. My MLC has made me think I am a young hip, cool kid who can boogie-woogie.

Disco dancing like its YTT at The Beat

Speaking of going out… I am playing in bars and clubs like I am 19 again. And what I mean by that is that I have been going to bars that serve drinks in plastic cups rather than a gorgeous crystal martini glasses. Their fridges are stacked with Bacardi Breezers and not boutique beers. This is just goddamn inappropriate for a man of my age. And the fundamental difference is that when I was a young fella I used to laugh at the seedy old men standing at the bar with their floppy, frosted tipped fringes  - now I am that man! It kills me to think that now I am being laughed at, especially without even delivering a pithy one-liner.

My next car will be a convertible, I guarantee you that. I have never been a car person, ever! I only just learnt how to put oil in the one I have. But I am completed fixated on having a convertible by my 40^th. And I have no idea why. I just really, really want one. A BMW 1 series, Audi A3 or a Volkswagen Eos (in that order, depending on budget). I reckon I’d even be one of those losers who drives across the Harbour Bridge on an overcast winter’s day with the top down wearing Ferrari aviator shades. You know exactly the man I am talking about. Wonder who will finance me? Is there a fund somewhere for MLC men that I can access???

I love you!

I’m loving my personal trainer. Now I could try and kid myself and say that I am getting up at sparrow’s fart a couple of mornings a week so that I can stay fit and healthy and live a better life. NO WAY!!! This would be a blatant lie. I do it because I am incredibly vain and have a massive ego. I wanna be thin and have muscles, a body that looks good in swimmers and shirtless on a podium (such an MLC thing to say!). I want a body that is more Olympic swimmer than marshmallow man. Progress is slow on this front, primarily because of the aforementioned bar-hopping.

I’ve realised that in my mad frenzy to furnish Man Pit with butch, masculine furniture that I’ve actually gone quite porn star. I’ve got a black leather arm chair at its very heart. Now that would never have been part of my décor before my early on-set MLC. I have lots of heavy dark wood furniture with silver accessories. I also have a giant mirror above my bed. There was a practical reason for this – it’s this huge gold ornate mirror that is too heavy to hang but sits beautiful on the ledge behind my bed. But now I am wondering if it was my subliminal MLC that lead me to placing it there. Man Pit has the strong hint of ‘aging porn star’.

And finally, and this will be no surprise to anyone who knows me, I dress far too young for my age. Skinny jeans with a baggy arse do not work on portly middle-aged men with a saggy arse. Low cut V t’shirts exposing grey chest hair should be binned. Purple accessories, such as shoes and watches, are far to try-hard on a 38yo, especially when worn in combination. Hair bands look good on funky 22yo’s, not semi-professionals. St. Murphy, do not buy clothes from the Zara Youth collection! My MLC is preventing me from realising I can not buy the same clothes I did when I was 24, and that at some stage I need to ‘mature’ my wardrobe.

Hot on him, not so good on me...

Yes, yes, I admit, you’ve caught me on a bad day. While I do not 100% believe it is in fact a mid-life crisis I am going through, I was more than slightly alarmed when I started thinking about this list. It actually started to make me think there is more truth in it than I originally thought. I am on high alert now for further signs. If I start dating a 21 year old or buy tickets to a Short Stack concert you all have permission to slap me. If you see me wearing gold jewellery, especially an earring, or I ask you to come with me to Home Nightclub you can cull me without question.

Let me assure though I will do my very best not to become a clichéd MLC. I want you laughing at my witty story-telling not my frosted tips.

Three Little Nuggets!

I swear my watch just jumped forward six days! If I didn’t know better I'd say I've been cast in a bad sci-fi movie about time travel (I got the role over Eric Bana). Since drinks with Mummy-Bloggers it feels like 6 days got crammed into 24hours. 99% of my life I’m sitting on the couch, eating pizza and wondering why I don’t have a life; then for 1% it’s a crazy, psycho blur. I’ve used up double my year’s quota of activity just in the last week.

But for the sake of my beloved blog I’m trolling out three stories from the last week that ring clear in my head. All for different reasons. St. Murphy has become bizarrely like a diary for me, which was never my intention, I had hoped to be more interesting than that. It appears I’m too self-centred to write about anything but myself (Shock! Horror!.. St. Murphy you’re not self-centred).

Story 1 – Royal Wedding

Hello Boys!

I would never in my wildest dreams have predicted that I would be so transfixed by this fairytale. I fell hook, line and sinker during Ten’s appalling telemovie which had me on the edge of my seat. Then from the moment my beloved Kate stepped out of the hotel I was in tears. No joke! Miss Cal will vouch for me, she was on the couch beside me. We were literally in a trance the whole ceremony. It was truly spectacular and amazingly beautiful. Maybe there is a romantic deep inside me after all.

A-Dorable!

So many highlights! The trees, the music, the dress, David Beckham, my new best-friend Pippa. The 6 priests, the hats, the carriages, the crowds swarming towards Buckingham Palace. It was 5 hours of heaven! The absolute highlight on my little couch was during the national anthem when Miss Call, who is normally super-intelligent, turned to me and said “Why isn’t the Queen singing?” To her credit she realised her error immediately and we were hysterical! SHE IS THE QUEEN, ITS ABOUT HER! My only non-pure, un-romantic thought during the whole thing was about the James Middleton / Prince Harry sandwhich that I am sure is on the menu.

My fav Archbishop cause his eyebrows are bigger than mine!

Story 2 – So grown-up and brave!

Was south of the border in Melbourne on a work trip over the weekend. Had a lovely cocktail party, a gorgeous dinner, then a quick disco nap – as you do on a Saturday night. You know how it is when you are newly single and determined to be a part of everything? I know this will ring bells with some of you. I wanted to go out and dance on a podium waving my arms in the air like I just don’t care! My hurdle – I couldn’t find anyone who would go out with me. Was feeling rather sad and lonely, fat and ugly, who know one wanted to play with – then I had a very Oprah moment and forcibly made myself pretty and went out to the Greyhound... ON MY OWN. So grown-up and brave.

Reno'd Greyhound. It did fill up. (haha file pic)

Now I can’t remember doing this since 1996 when I first moved to Sydney. Difference then was I was young, thin, had big gorgeous hair and didn’t get tired if I lifted my arms above my shoulders. I distinctly remember I had no problem making friends. Oh how times have changed. I spent nearly all night standing sadly in a corner sucking on double-vodka’s and B&H Fine. I forgot the key element of going out on your own – you have to be prepared to approach and start conversation. And no way am I doing that! As I’ve been saying for years, I’m not good with new people. Too old to make new friends. Luckily I had the young-gay-Melbourne’s obsession with hair-product to keep me entertained. So much hair-product it was both hilarious and disturbing. Please note boys; if you are not a model do not get a model-like haircut, and if it takes more than 3 minutes to do you hair than the cut is not working for you. Thank god I am now back in Sydney where I do not have to go out by myself and the gays respect their hair.

Story 3 – Hang-over cure fail.

Had a work party on Sunday night which is my ABSOLUTE FAVOURITE night of the year. It is the one and only night of the year I wear a tie – even bought a new one. Now you may have heard me brag here before that over the years I have mastered the hang-over cure. Being interstate I didn’t have all the ingredients so I woke up (late) on Monday with one of the most debilitating hang-overs ever. Speaking was a huge issue, brain-function was the equivalent of an NRL forward. I stumbled into work looking like the grim-reaper. I don’t even think my shoes and belt were the same colour leather.

New tie - so proud!

To cut to the chase on tedious tale, I am writing this to extend my sincere thanks to Qantas. More specifically, Qantas Club! I bailed for the airport early after even the polite receptionist said I looked like shit and then slept in the cab the whole way. Qantas couldn’t bring my flight forward – damn to hell that discount ticket – so I turned a lounge at QC into a make-believe bed, curled up cuddling what was left of my dignity, and slept for over an hour! Doesn’t matter what you pay for QC cause there is always one day a year you would give your life for a membership. Monday was that day. Thank you also to the check-in guy (who earlier I despised) who had the good sense to keep the seat beside me free on the plane. My breath was horrific and there would have been complaints. Moral to the story, I want to have my 40th at Qantas Club.

My beloved Qantas Club

So just three little nuggets (tried for gold, more likely shit) that in a nutshell sum up the last 6 days. The emotional highs of the Royal Wedding  and Sunday night down to the crassness of passing out in Qantas Club. Talk about highs and lows – I’m practically Lindsay Lohan.

Clinging to the Dream: Photos from my youth

So I lost the good part of half a day while I was at home in Griffith going through old family photo albums. It’s addictive, once you start you can’t stop. Everyone in my family, especially me, LOVES a photo. Every stage of my life is very well documented.

Now this is the most self-indulgent, self-absorbed post I’ve ever done. And that’s saying something! Every time I got all excited about a photo I took a shot of it on my iPhone. The result is this post.

Now there are two quite obvious themes to these photos.

A)   Camp, cute, funny shots from my Youth that would sit well on Born This Way, and…

B)   Shots that clearly show and prove that many years ago I used to be much much thinner and FIT! 

Please enjoy my little egotistical trip down memory lane!

Pageboy at Auntie Cheryl and Uncle John's wedding

Auntie Cheryl is the best aunty in the world and I love love love her dearly. Just wanted to get that in there.

Got excited over this one cause this year I am back in contact with two guys from this shot, one after 20 years and the other after 25. All thanks to Facebook.

Yr 7 School photo - start of monobrow and huge front gap

Yr 10 Social Committee Slave Day (have talked about this one before) - Brilliant time of life!

Yr 10 Formal, and no its not fancy dress. That shirt is Jade. Protecting the identity of partner here.  

Such an unbelievable poser! But can not tell you how much I  love that I used to be this thin!

Bro and I at his 18th. Note the floral shirts and motorbike on the cake.

This one, I got so excited about what my stomach looked like 20yrs ago that I nearly passed out.

CLINGING TO THE MEMORIES!!!!!

Now as much as I am addicted to B&H, Absolut and Foxtel today, I used to be just as addicted to exercise - I've literally become the polar opposite of my youth. These photos will come as a great shock to those of you who know me now. Please note the ponytail (it was the early 90's)!!!

Now these shots are to make my old mate Snuddo and I feel better about ourselves. Now that we are men of a certain age we can only dream of our athletic youth and defined shoulders.

Now just to end... I've talked before about how I'm such a hoarder. Well I've got boxes of 'memorabilia' still in the shed at Mumsy's house. Trolling through them I found these... My favourite swimmers from 1984! LA Olympic themed "Where there's a Will there's a way!" Or am I the only one who remembers that slogan?

Ahhhh... such memories. Sorry to drag you along with me. I did warn you upfront it was gonna be self-indulgent! Other reason, besides my ego, is I got a bit nervous putting shots up of other people who may not like it. Damn I'm considerate. So it's all about me

I'm clinging to the dream as much as those Willy swimmers clung to me!

I love a Double Cheeseburger so I got myself a Trainer

I have been an annoying whinger over the past few months about stacking on weight and feeling gross. It hasn’t been the easiest of times (whinging again!) so my logic has been why deprive myself of the things that make me happy – Double Cheeseburger Meal Deals, oven pizza, pie and chips, a red duck curry, a light snack of chocolate chip cookies. Why are all my favourite things also on the Biggest Loser hit list? Its not so much comfort eating as lack of self-control, and I love the taste of calories!

I love a double cheeseburger!

It's time to turn this fat-train around and do something about my bad habits – I haven’t given up the dream that skinny-jeans are for me even though I’m 5 years and 15cm’s past the used-by date. Don’t even get me started on my desire to still wear a midriff. Through my new, very friendly local gym they hooked me up with a personal trainer. I based the selection purely on looks. If a hot man can’t motivate me then nothing will. Booked in with Trainer for twice a week for the next 3 months as surely I can make myself feel better in that time.

Yesterday was my first session at 6am, an ungodly hour, but I am much better in the morning than I am at any time past 11am. I knew this first session was gonna knock me about so I went to bed at 9pm, only to wake at 3am as bright as a button. Ended up getting in a good two hours of housework and pfaffing before heading off in my matching Adidas ensemble to meet Trainer.

even my bag!

So first thing we do is jump on the scales! I’ve just said to Trainer “This is the heaviest I’ve ever been in my life” when the scales proved me WRONG! I’m actually 4kgs lighter than just last year. Go figure! Turns out I was much heavier when I was lounging poolside in Fiji with exBoyfriend last July. How’s that for the mind playing tricks; classic comfort factor when in a relationship, self-doubt when out of it. When I was happy and having fun my weight was so not an issue, for godsake I remember posing for photos in my man-kini’s. The moment things weren’t hunky-dorey suddenly my weight becomes an issue in my head. And I’m sure being single & near-40 has also made me extra paranoid about my complete lack of muscle tone. Big lesson learnt about mind over matter for me yesterday and that was even before I had lifted a single weight. So I’m making a very public apology to everyone I’ve complained to of late, turns out I was being a bit of a drama-queen.

So back to Trainer. I was all ready to be able write a scathing review of my first session, of the trauma it caused me and the grief I feel. But I have to say… I ABSOLUTELY LOVED EVERY SECOND OF IT! I admit I did have a swagger in my step after getting off the scales that was slowly diminished during the session but I had a ball, thrived. It felt real good to be working out, even if I was only lifting baby weights (I’m sure I saw some sniggers from nearby muscle-mary’s). Granted, I slowly started to get shaky over the hour and by the end couldn’t string a sentence together but god it felt good.

Only a matter of weeks now....

I walked around all day thinking it was only a matter of time before someone commented on my dramatic weightloss or new muscles. Hopefully Trainer has now kick-started something real good. After months of a shocking diet, near drowning in Absolut and a B&H permanently between my fingers, yesterday took a whole different path. It was a gluten and carb free day, and the only nicotine I had was through a patch. Talk about mind over matter! Next thing you know I’ll have the body of an Olympic swimmer I’ve always dreamed of.

Its like looking in a mirror

Jeez I hope my notoriously short attention span lifts its game as well!

Mmmmmm…. Cadbury Dairy Milk.

Two very important Life Lessons!

Life Lesson No. 1

You may recall that I've bucked ‘the break-up’ trend and stacked on the weight rather than shed it after becoming a single man. No one likes a fat homo, especially other homo’s, so I’ve joined my new local gym. I heard that they have equipment that if you stand on them you lose weight. And this place seems so much friendlier than my old gym that I donated too, which was the gayest gym in the world. I felt like I needed to do my hair before, during and immediately after a workout. My new gym is a little more, shall I politely say, down-to-earth.

Life Lessons from St. Murphy

I went for the first time yesterday and it was an all-round horrifying experience. First off it was very early morning so the synapses were hardly firing. Had trouble in the changerooms working out the locker situation, had to go and ask the lovely/cute receptionist the protocol. It seems I need to bring my own lock. So I finally get to the X-trainer and I 100% guarantee you it’s the biggest machine I’ve ever seen. I’d been on them before but not this big. Twice I dropped my iPod, keys and stuff while trying to mount that sucker. So embarrassing. I could feel eyes all on me thinking ‘how unco’.

Its quite lovely in photos

Keeping in mind I’m 38 not 105, I thought I’d be able to bash out a 30min workout. At the 7 min mark I knew I was in trouble, by 12 mins I was gasping for my last breathe and the controls – dragged that down to 20mins. By the time I’d finished I was a mess – mentally and physically. What has happened to me? When did I become an old man??? Somewhere between Absolut, Benson &Hedges and Pizza Hut Delivery I’d lost my fitness.

So ashamed that’s all I could do I thought 15mins on the treadmill would redeem me somewhat. What the hell was I thinking? At 3mins I reduced that to 10mins but by the 8 min mark I realized my health was in danger and I desperately, achingly need to be seated on a toilet STAT!. I pushed through to the end and than ran. The grief and mortification I felt when I realized that the toilet, with gaps above and below the door, was right on the edge of the changeroom was overwhelming. Lets just say I ain’t making any new friends at the gym anytime soon.

It was such a horrific experience that I know, without a doubt, that I need to go everyday! Otherwise I will be dead or a Sumo within 2 years.

Life Lesson No. 1 – Gyms are embarrassing and horrific places, but sadly if you don’t go you become a fat homo.

Me in 2 years unless I go to Gym!

Life Lesson No. 2

I’ve never been very good in the kitchen; I have no interest, no skill, no flair for the culinary. Had been very lucky that last few years to have someone who enjoyed cooking and prepared most of my evening meals. Now at Man Pit I am my own Shopper/Chef so I thought I’d give a simple steak and steamed veg a crack - I mean really, how hard can it be.

First obstacle, the George Foreman steamer that was a Xmas gift has no life left in it. Foreman himself went 16 rounds, not this steamer unfortunately. So within 2 mins I was down to just the steak (don’t even own a saucepan or microwave which says a lot about how I cook). I whip out my brand spanking new Jamie Oliver Tefal frypan, so shiney and pretty, and off I go. In hindsight, I think my mistake was not turning on the exaust fan cause within 2 mins the fire alarm was BLARING through my shoebox apartment. I’m waving tea towels, I’m unscrewing the fire alarm, I am depseratley trying to find a switch on a wall somewhere. Nothing would shut that thing down.

Little bastard!

Than to my horror my neighbour’s started buzzing through the intercom – THE ALARM GOES THROUGH THE WHOLE BUILDING!!! Holy hell, I hadn’t even met them yet! I scrambled downstairs in my comfy pants and headband where my new favourite neighbour and the owner of the business downstairs are franticly trying to disarm the alarm before the fire brigade get there. MORTIFIED!!! You need a science degree to do this, and only with their help and guidance, the alarm was turned off. I ate the steak half raw rather than try to cook that cow anymore.

Life Lesson No. 2 – Never, ever cook for yourself. Always order take-away or eat out. Do not endanger the lives of others by turning on a hotplate.

And you just know that the firemen saving me from my steak would NOT have looked like this!