Oh hai. Apologies for living under a rock since January. Let me bring you up to speed you wonderful handful of loyal readers.

In mid January I stepped onto my bathroom scale and the sheer, abject horror of seeing a digital display mockingly read “199.5” sent my delicate flower sensibilities into virtual meltdown. You see, I’d been avoiding the bathroom scale for months just like one does with folks that one owes money or that furry, bear dude who gave one the crabs.

I have never ever weighed almost 200lbs. The number played havoc with my mind as I still saw myself as, oh…somewhere around 185lbs even though I’d been buying larger sport coats just to cover off-site meetings, and the out of town business trips to the corporate office. I could no longer get into the tres expensive Burberry, Asaia, or HUGO BOSS suits that still, to this day, hang in sober judgement of my 44Short, fat-ass self.

It’s one thing to be old(er) in the gay community but it’s an entirely other matter to be old and fat. Invisible doesn’t even begin to describe the silent judgement of rail-thin office millennials who cluck their pink tongues should I even look at the Dunkin’ Donuts box in the employee lounge.

Oh, sure. There are exceptions to the ‘old and fat’ gay isolation rule: do you have a big cock? Do you have, say, a big cock and a summer house in Montauk, Long Island? These areas of visible wealth eradicate both years and pounds off virtually every fat ass queen I know. But I digress.

The very next day post-bathroom scale debacle I returned to EQUINOX. It’s important to mention the gym brand as you will appreciate that my stupid ass self has, monthly–since 2013, paid a growing membership fee to essentially perform a fairly robust elliptical/cardio routine as one of the club’s invisible gay guys. (insert ‘gay and old’ as reference point) January of this year my membership hovered somewhere between $143/month and a gazillion dollars. I do love me some Kiehl’s hand cream though so I keep going back. ahem –

Since that sub-zero day in January I’ve remained somewhat faithful to a gym routine, portion control at mealtime, and I’ve stopped swilling bottles of Chardonnay. I can definitely count on one hand the number of cocktails I’ve had since January. I’ve lost 11lbs. I’m out of the 44s size and back into the nebulous 42s arena. One can still look somewhat together as a 42s. The 44s basically communicates “here, look at my old man belly.” And not in a good way.

I searched online for that BMI measurement thang and at my height {5’9″} my ideal goal weight is 165lbs. That’s what I’m working towards but in all frankness I’d have to lick toilet seats at the airport and come down with a nasty case of ebola to get THAT skinny. One can hope. And hope remains eternal.

Today is Mother’s Day. It’s always a sad and meditative-type day for me. My mother is now framed as ‘the woman who brought me into this world.’

Her mothering days ended sometime in the late 70s when she wigged out and had a strangle-choke hold around my neck. I can type that nowadays and the hurt of having one’s mother try to kill them doesn’t sting nearly as much as it used to.

I left home that very day. I also suffer deal with panic/anxiety. A therapist told me that panic anxiety disorder stems from repressed anger. I’m proud of myself, really– to have compartmentalized a narcissistic mother. The past many, many years have been fine without her. I can’t say that I miss her. I can say that I miss “mothering” as there have been times in my life where only the support of a mother’s love could soothe. Oh. And a hefty slice of chocolate cake with inch thick frosting. That soothes as well.

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