Selling My Porn

I'll admit, I'm a hoarder.

I keep stuff, but only stuff I feel is important or of value. I guess, to me, my collection of Penthouse magazines were of value.

After graduating from high school and turning 18, I started buying Penthouse. Of course, it was for the articles and not the pictures of hot naked and sexy women.

The magazines were boxed up and traveled with me to my first and second apartment, then my house, then my apartment after my divorce. After hauling it for 20 years, I finally decided to let go of my collection.

But throwing it away was hard for me to do, because these magazines are in great condition. Therefore, I decided to turn to Craigslist. I listed 16 magazines for $25. Two days later, I got a response. Soon after, I was waiting at the local burger joint (Whataburger) waiting to make the exchange.

While I waited, I started to wonder who was to be the new owner of my collection. The first person that came to mind was a trucker. As I thought this, a semi truck parked next to my car. The trucker glanced at me but went inside the burger joint. He came out, climbed into his semi truck and left.

A few minutes later, two guys in a VW beetle parked next to my car. Both were clean cut, young, and dressed in preppy clothes. They sat in their car for a couple of minutes until one finally came out and approached me.

"Hi," greeted the younger looking guy who could have been no older than 25.

"Hey," I responded, "you're the new owner of my collection."

"Yeah."

"Great!" I said as I handed him a paper bag with my Penthouse. "They are in great condition."

He looked inside and smiled. "They look like it. Thanks."

We exchanged the magazines and cash, and they were on their way.

After 20 years, having these magazines in storage, I earned $25. Wow!

First Time on a Spinner

When visiting the gym, I try to blend in without notice. Of course, in this particular visit, that didn't happen.

via spinning.com

The gym added a few spinners with the other cardio machines. I've been intimidated to try it out more because of its complexity. But today was the day I would face that intimidation and ride that machine.

The Spinner stationary bike has a couple of adjustable pop-pins. I realized this when I first got on and found that my feet couldn't reach the pedals. I jumped off and looked around and found the pop-pin to adjust the height of the seat. This particular pop-pin requires unscrewing and pulling to adjust the seat.

After adjusting the height of the seat, I got back on to the bike and started pedaling. Then I felt my seat drop with a "clank, clank, clank, clank" until I was at it's lowest setting. I forgot to screw the pop-pin in place.

People around me, especially the cute brunette girl on the treadmill next to me, turned towards the clanking sound.

What made it more embarrassing is that when I jumped off the bike to adjust the seat, my wired earphones, which fit around the ear, got caught on the resistance knob and yanked them from my ears.

Eventually, after adjusting the pop-pins and resistance knob, I was on my way pedaling confidently nowhere.

Thank You

In previous entries HERE and HERE, I've written about the redhead at the gym. She's been going to the gym as long as I have and usually around the same time.

Like me, she has changed her routine. When I first noticed her, she was doing a lot of cardio and aerobics. She's added free weights into her routine.

During the five years or so of working out next to each other, we've never exchanged words. Why would we? I go to the gym to get fit and not talk to people. Yes, I do notice people around me, especially girls, but I don't approach them; although, I have been approached by an abdominal snow-woman, which I've blogged about HERE.

Finally, we exchanged words. We arrived to the gym at the same time, and I opened the door for her.

"Allow me," I said.

"Thank you," she said with a genuine smile.

I smiled back and said, "Sure."

Now if we see each other, we exchange a smile, a nod, or a hand gesture.

A New Crop

I've noticed that there is usually a influx of new gym members before the first of the year and the first of the school year.

After the holidays, you usually see the older crowd and the much-out-of-shape guys and girls joining the gym.

The weeks before school starts, you usually see a new crowd of young students joining the gym. Perhaps many have the idea of meeting someone special during the first few weeks of the school year. And many usually disappear by mid-November.

Of course, this is a hypothesis and I have no data to support it.

Nonetheless, I do enjoy this time of year because we see a new crop of young ladies. Many of which are quite attractive and probably the least who need the gym. Yet, you see them with their tight spandex shorts running on the treadmill.

Yes, I notice. Of course I notice as I stumble a few times as my eyes independently decides to fixate themselves on a particular sight, eager to describe the scenery: shorts hugging every inch of the gluteus maximus butt as it contracts and expands with the biceps femoris easily keeping up with the rotating conveyor belt.

To be honest, I do not ogle at the girls. I notice, but not to the point where I actually do make it apparent. Although, there is a new red head that has caught my attention, recently.

Numb

I should listen to the dentist more closely. I had gone to the dentist a few weeks ago for my biannual cleaning. She inspected my teeth after the hygienist cleaned them and informed me that I should get the fillers on my molars redone. She explained that they were coming undone in some areas and that this needed to be redone in order to avoid cavities.

It seems as if I understood what she said; however, for some reason or another all I heard was "fillers on your back molars to avoid cavities."

Not a problem, I thought. I scheduled my appointment a month later.

A month later, I strolled back into the dentist office and waited for my dentist to come and put fillers on my back molars.

"Today, you'll be getting your fillers on your back molars replaced," she explained.

"Wait," I stopped her, "I'll be getting fillers?"

"Yes, I'll check my notes but that's why you are here, dear."

She looked at her notes and confirmed the appointment. She returned with two large syringes and placed them on my chest.

She injected the first syringe of anesthesia along the back inner cheek. She did the same with the other syringe.

I hate syringes. HATE IT.

After the thirty minute procedure, I left the dentist's office with the right side of my face numb.

Since I left work early to go to my dentist appointment, I thought it would be good to run a few errands.

I decided to go to the store to by our weekly supply of dinner wine. Still feeling numb, I noticed my son's classmate and his mom shopping. I walked up to them and said hello.

Of course, the hello that came out was more like a drunkard saying hello. So, here I am, walking up to them at three in the afternoon, with a case of six wines saying hello.

His mom gave me a look of concern as I wiped drool that I felt drip along my chin.

"Sorry," I explained, "I just came from the dentist."

"Oh... okay. I hope you feel better," the mom replied.

You'd think I'd call it a wrap and go home after that. Think again.

I wanted to make it to the gym--at least for thirty minutes.

Well, thirty minutes was all I can do. The weights were more than what I could handle; although, it's the same amount I usually do. My energy on the treadmill was limited. I quickly got tired after three quarters of mile.

It wasn't until I tried to drink water from the fountain when I then realized that perhaps I should just go home. Since I couldn't feel the right side of my face, water just ran out of my mouth. Sadly, a few others waiting behind me to have a drink, saw me spill water out of my mouth over the fountain and onto the floor.

I went home.

  

Follicle release in the wrong places

This really doesn't fit the label of Confessions of a Gym Dweeb per se. This particular experience doesn't happen at the gym but rather at home.

For the past couple of years, my hairstylist has found that I'm slowly starting to show a thinning crown in the form of a horseshoe. This is serious; especially since I am only 38 years old. I can't accept the concept of me growing old.

To resolve my hair loss, I decided to purchase the Framesi follicle release shampoo my hairstylist was selling. She told me a pearl size amount would be plenty and to only apply over the area where I am starting to thin.

"Okay. Pearl size. Apply in area where I am thinning. Got it," I responded to her direction.

"Don't rub it all over your head. My ex did that and his hair in the back of head was becoming bushy."

"Okay. Pearl size. Apply in area where I am thinning. Not everywhere or I will get bushy. Got it." I responded confidently as I said my good-byes and left her salon.

The next morning I applied a pearl size on my palm and lathered it on the crown of my head as she instructed. I pulled my hands from my head and looked at my hands. There were a few strands of hair on my soapy palms as if slowly suffering a painful death.

To add to this dilemma, I didn't know where I should wash off my soapy hands. Typically, if it was my normal shampoo, I rub it on another part of my body (I'll leave it at that). But this was a different situation. I remembered her tell me specifically apply it on the area I was thinning. The last thing I wanted was a much hairy ass.

I turned around, leaned forward and washed my hands with the shower. I did the same with my soapy hair and tried to avoid having the lather wash down any other part of my body.

This has been my bathing life for the past couple of months. I returned to my hairstylist and asked if she saw any progress. Unfortunately, she had no good news to report. She said I still had the same amount of hair. No new follicles.

Well, I guess I'll still be applying the shampoo until I see some results. In the meantime, I'll need to purchase a new set of trimmers to take care of my lower body hair.

"I forgot my headphones"

I was driving to the gym, when I realized that I had forgotten to pack my headphones.

This is a big deal, since I do have a selection of workout music.

Driving along I-35, I had a choice to either forego the gym and go home or go to the gym and suffer through my workout without my tunes.

While stuck in traffic I debated with myself as to why I should skip one more day.

I argued with myself, "I did lift boxes and mowed the yard this weekend, and I did drive between Austin and Midland through torrential rain and wind. That was a workout."

It's hard to avoid the gym, since the exit I take also leads home.

Good sense won the debate. I couldn't let headphones be the only reason to skip the gym. Plus, that only gave me one day this week I know I'll be able to workout since my son has a dentist appointment on Thursday and god-forbid I work out on Friday--it's fun-day.

I found a decent parking spot at the gym. "Perhaps my gym experience won't be that bad," I thought to myself.

As I walked into the building, Brandy by Looking Glass was playing over the intercom.

"God, I wish I had my headphones."