That's too long to stand around naked in front of a bunch of dudes. Put your fucking tighty whiteys on and move along, fella.

So this morning after several days without hot water, waking up to a cold shower every day, we joined a gym. They have showers there.

The end.

Okay - Here goes...  I was living in Tampa Florida, in a part of town called Ybor City.  It's like Tampa's version of Bourbon Street - a hangout for drunks, hooligans, gangs and people like me.

Momo and I lived in an apartment complex that I used to refer to as "the compound."  The place was locked up like Fort Knox, and it had everything you'd need to survive within its walls.  There was a rec room with a pool table and a massive big screen with theater style seats.  There was a gym, on site dry cleaning, and a convenience store with beer and freshly made hoagies.  And of course... there was a pool.

I was working overnights at the time, so I was home alone during the day.  I got into the habit of buying a sixer and a hoagie at the shop, and taking it down to the pool area.  I'd hang out down there, trying to get a little sun while getting a good buzz going.  That's when I first ran into... damn... I can't remember his name... let's call him "freak."

Freak walked up to me at the pool and introduced himself.  He was wearing a full three piece suit.. at noon.. in Florida.. by the pool.. in the middle of summer.  I chatted with him for a few minutes, because I find freaks interesting. Dude had dark skin and curly hair.  His face was kind of jacked up - all pockmarked and splotchy.  He told me he was Greek.  He bragged about his Armani suit, his world travels, and his uber-expensive furniture he was having flown in from Paris.

We didn't talk long, but I ran into him again... and again... and again.  I think he knew my schedule and was stalking me a little.  I mean, he always met me at the pool, and he was always wearing a suit.  I know what you're thinking.  Yes I told him I was married and I mentioned Momo several times.  I naively assumed he just thought I was cool and maybe he didn't have any friends.

At one point, he invited me to see his apartment.  I assumed he just wanted to show off his collection of expensive suits and his Parisian furniture.  My curiosity got the better of me.  I honestly wanted to see how this freak lived.  What kind of creepy shit was this guy into?

But when he opened the door to his place, I could see it was totally empty.  No couch.  No TV.  No bed.  Nothing.  He muttered something about "those fucking French furniture jerks."  Then he explained that he never sleeps at home because he's always out partying all night.

I made up some excuse, telling him I had plans that afternoon and had to head back to my place.  As I walked away, he called my name.  I stopped and he approached me awkwardly.  Then he asked me out on a date.  I think he said he wanted to take me to dinner.  I pointed at my wedding ring and said, "Dude, I told you I'm married."

In all honesty, I wasn't upset.   I figure I sort of led him on by hanging out with him.  But I swear it was simply out of curiosity.  Freaks interest me.

Yesterday, I cancelled my membership. However, I do have a fucked up workout plan. I doubt it'll help me build muscle, but hopefully it'll help keep me from fattening up too much.

Here's the daily plan which I've already begun:

• Eat a breakfast with protein (eggs).
• Work for at least 8 hours, sitting in my cube.
• Eat lunch (this isn't easy for me - work's been busy)
• Head home.
• Spend several hours on the internet.
• Drink several beers.
• Eat a huge dinner.
  *Now here's where the workout begins*
• Do 30 pushups.

The 30 pushups thing is at least mildly insane. Every night before bed, I take the dog out for a piss. I live on the 14th floor of my apartment building, so that trip involves a 15 second elevator ride down and one more 15 second trip back up.

I've recently discovered I can do about 15 pushups in 15 seconds... in the elevator. It's pretty late when I take the dog out, so it's rare that anyone hops in there with us.

The elevator isn't very big. I have to position myself diagonally to have enough room for my workout. I'm able to tell when the elevator is stopping at the ground floor. I always hop up and try to act normal when the door opens. So far, no one has caught me in the act. But I do have a few unanswered questions:

• Is there a security camera in the elevator?
• Can the security guard at the front desk see me doing pushups?
• Will 30 pushups keep me from getting fat?
• Does my dog think I'm completely insane?
• Am I?
• Did you catch my reference to Silence of the Lambs?

• I'm a huge fan of superlatives. Two posts in a row had the word "best" in the title. And I just said I'm a "huge fan." I could've said, "I like to use superlatives sometimes." Honestly, that's just how I talk. A typical conversation with me at dinner might go a little like this:
  
  Me: "This pizza is fucking awesome."
  You: "Yeah, it's pretty good."
  Me: "It's really fucking good."
  You: "The beer's not bad either."
  Me: "You ain't kidding. Yuengling's the best! The oldest brewery in the U.S."
  You: "So, how was the Built to Spill show last night?"
  Me: "It sucked! I used to really love their music, but somehow they've turned into a jam band. Some of the songs went on for like 15 minutes. Ridiculous."
  You: "You go out after the show?"
  Me: "Yeah, we went to Las Vegas Lounge. I got wasticated. It was fantastic!"

  Please take note - conversations with me are never that one-sided. I just wanted to illustrate a point. Seriously, I'm a good listener. I promise.

• I have less than one week of total freedom remaining. I start my new job on Monday. Since moving to Philly two months ago, I've been trying to focus as much time as possible to the job hunt. I haven't been hanging out at the park, taking the dog on long walks, spending my afternoons at the gym, etc. I wanted to feel productive, so I've spent a good chunk of the daylight hours working on my resume and applying for jobs.

  But now, the daylight hours are all mine. So what do I do? Well, yesterday, I blogged, watched a movie, played THUG 2 on PS2, and ate a ton of food. Man, I really need to get out of the house.

• Ever say "in like Flynn?" I'm sure some of you have said it. I mean, it sounds kind of lame, like saying "chillin' like Bob Dylan," or "in there like swimwear." Okay, maybe you haven't said it, but perhaps you've heard it before.

  So I was wondering where that phrase came from. At first glance (and first Google search), I noticed the name Errol Flynn. Okay, that makes sense. Errol Flynn was pretty smooth. He played Robin Hood. Cool guy, right? So it must mean "I'm in there like that smooth handsome actor who played Robin Hood."

  Not so fast. "In like Flynn" is basically another phrase for, "Awesome, I got away with statutory rape. I am so in there." Case in point, from World Wide Words:

  An American expression meaning to be successful emphatically or quickly, especially in regard to sexual seduction, refers to the Australian-born actor Errol Flynn. His drinking, drug-taking and sexual exploits were renowned, even for Hollywood, but the phrase is said to have been coined following his acquittal in February 1943 for the statutory rape of a teenage girl.

That's all for now.

Still, I felt a little iffy about it. I mean, I've read dozens of issues over the years, but I bought those one at a time. Now I'm a subscriber.

I don't want this to become a customer testimonial, but i've got to tell you what makes this magazine so badass. It's the articles - seriously! A couple of examples:

Last month, they ran a short story written by one of my favorite authors, Chuck Palahniuk. The story was about these two guys who got rich be letting people kick their asses. Like Fight Club I guess, with no fighting back. They would go to a bar, dress up in drag, sing love songs, and charge patrons money for one punch. Genius (if you can take the pain).

This month, they have a guest column from the guy who plays the dad on Family Guy. He lists the ten TV characters that most influenced him (quoted from Playboy):

1. MacGyver - Taught me how to get a lady pregnant with a condom and a pair of scissors...
4. T.J. Hooker - His name was Hooker. He-he-he-he...
10. Arthur Fonzarelli - Smoking is not cool, never mess with turkeys, and if you wear a leather jacket you are impervious to STDs.

I'm telling you, this magazine is hilarious. Plus, the music and movie reviews are spot-on. And I know what you're all thinking... I haven't even mentioned the pictures.

Listen, of course the pictures are great. It's like Maxim, but funnier, smarter, and the girls are naked. But really, you want pr0n, flip through Hustler, or get it free on the internet.

I stink.

If you want to do a little reading, check out my QW post.

This whole gym thing is pretty new to me. I've never had a gym membership. In Richmond, I had a weight bench and thus I could work out in solitude. Now I'm lifting in a crowded gym full of amateur athletes. It's not that I think they're judging me. I'm just worried I'm going to get in the way. Like somehow I'm breaking the unwritten rules of the gym rats.

Here are the rules I've learned so far:

1. Always wipe your nasty sweat off the equipment when you're done (No, I did not make this mistake).
2. When a guy wants to chit-chat in the locker room for a little too long, just move on.
3. When a huge behemoth of a man grunts and makes angry looking faces while he's lifting, he's not necessarily mad at you.
4. When someone's waiting to use an occupied piece of equipment, don't swoop in and take their place when they're not looking.
5. On the treadmills or stationary bikes, don't look over at someone else's pace, calories burned, etc. It's not that they'll mind so much, but it'll make you feel like a lazy bastard when you're nowhere near their level.

That's all for now.