You're Probably a Gainer If...

If you're reading this blog, you probably already have a pretty good idea whether or not you're a gainer. Quit splitting eclairs and enjoy the plump musings to follow. You're probably a gainer if...

You measure time in weight: "I haven't had a vacation since 220!"

You consider Thanksgiving stuffing an event rather than a dish.

You buy a shirt you love in three sizes: yours, one too small, and one too large. Obviously you want one to wear comfortably and one to grow into, plus one for a supercute "outgrown" photo shoot.

Krispy Kreme is one of your In Case of Emergency contacts.

You turn down an invitation to a buffet for dinner because you had that for lunch. Then you reconsider and accept an invitation to a buffet for dinner. Because you had that for lunch.

You prep for a visit with your parents not by vacuuming or finding a reasonable brunch spot, but by planning answers for when they ask if you've been "working out" while wincing.

You consider a mini-fridge a perfectly legitimate piece of living room furniture.

The first thing you think when you hear an acquaintance lost 10 pounds is That poor thing!

You don't own any black clothing because you find it too slimming.

And lastly, you might be a gainer if the cashier at McDonald's knows you by first name. And you've never been to that McDonald's before.

Gainerspeak Lesson #12

Today's lesson: SKIM.

skim

-noun

1. a fellow who is non-fat, like the blue milk. formed by combining SKINNY and TRIM. a SKIM may be a chaser, encourager, or almost any guy on a show with 33-year-olds playing high school sophomores, regardless of preference; Xavier had never really gone for skims, but he really started to appreciate the contrast once he put on his freshman 54.

Ex Pants Shun

10 Things I Learned at Expansion:

1) California Pizza Kitchen is delicious in any geographic state.

2) I have a "kind of Jewish" hairline.

3) If all you do in a day besides talk is eat 3 meals plus snacks and sit in or by a pool, chances are good you will go home fatter.

4) Coppertone sunblock turns humans into smurfs.

5) If you receive an invitation to join a group you might not normally join but have no reason to be scared or nervous about having activity time* with, you should probably accept the invitation. *of the non-sexual variety... but maybe that too...

6) The middle seat isn't so bad.

7) If a girl wanders into an establishment looking like an extra from Jersey Shore with her manly-looking boyfriend, don't steal her jewelry. If she wanders in alone, at least hide it from her.

8) I am not to make the 40-Year-Old Virgin poster face ever. Ever. Ev-er.

9) Always leave 'em wanting more.

DO eat yellow snow: Gaining Tips #9

Next time you have a pizza (I'm assuming here, but come on, look who I'm talking to) start with the largest piece. We all know there's no point in having pizza if there will be slices left over. That's like having a cake and having slices left over. Now that we're clear... don't cheat and order a size smaller just to be able to say you finished a whole thing. Sorry, but polishing off a (pizza in the morning, pizza in the evening) Bagel Bite is just not going to get tongues a-wagging in your steamy true-life gainer memoir.

Back to my tip: seriously, start with the big slice and work your way to the smallest. When you're feeling full and you have to face that last piece, which will look more manageable, the one it looks like Giancarlo down at Pizza Shack forgot to slice in half and which could smother you if it was pressed against your face (sorry, not my scene), or the one that if you were feeling generous you might share as just a taste with a table mate who was curious about your unusual topping choices in return for a treasure chest of rubies or two oatmeal raisin cookies? Even though it's the same amount of pizza, psycho-logic-ally the sliver will seem like you're cramming in less. If you're into that stuffed feeling, allow me to remind you it's the same. amount. of pizza.

So you might as well make it easier for yourself.

So you think you can Expansion

Do you remember what it was like before or after middle school gym class (or maybe it was high school for you; I was always old for my age) when everyone would hit the locker room and suddenly you'd be surrounded by shirtless guys, some blindingly hot and some that could cause blindness if you looked for more than 2 seconds? For me, it was like a buffet at which I wasn't allowed to take a bite, which as we all know, is about the most brutal form of torture in existence. Both stimulating and terrifying, like a cup of hot coffee. All I wanted to do was drink in the sight (it's always about eating or drinking something, isn't it?) but staring at cute half-naked (my school made no use of the showering option, so we stopped at half) peers wasn't exactly encouraged (it's always about encouragement, isn't it?) in the public school system for some reason. Go figure. Like my blog.

Anyway, in my experience, Expansion is a lot like gym class in school, except that instead of a locker room it's a pool and instead of being made fun of if you're caught peeking at a fella, the shirtless guys appreciate it. Also, there's not as much running around involved. Now that Expansion is approaching, I hear it popping up in profiles and conversation more. Some guys have known for ages they were going to attend 2010's event and some are undecided; I suppose this post is addressed to them. Keep in mind I have attended exactly 1 Expansion event (last year's) and can claim no expertise. As if that has ever stopped a blogger from writing about something!

So if you're still trying to figure out whether you should go or not, I've compiled a few helpful tips (from a non-expert) in bullet-form in the hopes it will limit rambling (which will completely and utterly fail):

Maybe you shouldn't go if

*You have never ever met anyone from the gainerverse in real life. Unless you live in a tiny weaving village in Antarctica and travel is extremely challenging, your not having met anybody means you have probably flaked or haven't gotten around to making a sincere effort. And no, "we should meet for donuts sometime" does not count as a sincere effort. If you've been scared to make a face to face connection, you will probably be paralyzed and overwhelmed by so many three dimensional fatties (and encouragers) in one place. No, really. Last year one poor chap couldn't move below the big toe after catching sight of the other attendees.

*The number 40 (or McDonald's help you, 30) gives your goosebumps goosebumps. I hate to break it to the 20-somethings and possibly younger among us, but there will be guys over 40 at Expansion. Possibly even over 50! Even worse, they might be handsome! Worse than that, they might have something interesting to say! Worst of all... they might not even care to sneak you off to a cabin and have their old man way with you!

*You're only going because that one tremendously hot studmuffin (spellcheck tells me that's not a word, but I think we know the truth) from New York/ California/ Canada/ the other side of the fence/ the moon whose profile you've admired for years (or months, or since 4:00) is going to be there. First off, he may end up not going after all. Also, his voice is probably way more annoying than you think, unless you've talked on the phone or the Skype monster or something, of course. Then it's just clearer. But putting all your fried eggs in one KFC Double Down is generally not a good idea. I can't say I've ever put up deceptive photos of myself, but I certainly pick the best from a batch I take; if I put up the worst of my self-styled photo shoots, I don't think folks would be so keen to send me a hello and chances are your loverboy has done the same. It's gainer nature (excess yourself don't restrict yourself)! Whether he's a disappointment or better than hoped for, he will not be what you expect and if your focus is on one belly (ok, I'll give you credit for liking his face too) you may want to consider arranging a very special one-on-one episode instead of at Expansion where you'll have to share each other.

Okay, so maybe you SHOULD go if:

* You like the idea of fostering a bit of a sense of community. The first time I ever wandered into the gay neighborhood in a big city I had such a gee-whiz combination of anxiety at being "caught" being gay and relief at not being singled out for it. We don't make sense, do we? I felt similar heading to Expansion last year. Not so anxious, but certainly a sense of belonging. I wasn't "home" exactly, but I was in a place I didn't have to be worried about this odd thing about myself, surrounded by like-minded chaps (variations in interests ranging from pregnancy to inflation to immobility, etc. excluded). Even when gaining wasn't the primary topic of conversation (yes, it happened) it was good to have face to face to face to face reinforcement that we're not alone in this. Assuming that the majority of your interactions within the gainerverse take place, like mine, online, have you ever (or often) found yourself discussing things beyond bellies and donuts? Movies and jobs are a good start, but have you ever been having a chat with an online acquaintance and forgotten for a moment that his screen name is BiggerBellyBustedBeltButtonsBulging2000? Alternately, have your testicles ever spontaneously erupted at the sight of a guy lifting his shirt 4 inches? Either way, you might enjoy what Expansion has to offer. If not, I'll pay you back your entire trip expense* out of pocket myself. *No I won't.

*You know why you're going. I found Expansion quite loosely structured. The event treated attendees as adults who could decide for themselves what to do with their time and with whom to spend it. Were there walking tours and planned meals? Yes. Was every minute of every day planned for us? No. There was a lot of free time to make of the event what we would. A lot of folks seem to think the whole event is an obese orgy, and there may have been some of that behind closed doors but I certainly didn't see it. There was a lot of belly rubbing in the pool, but only for those that wanted to rub and be rubbed. We may have scared off a few families with toddlers, but that's not our fault. If the pool isn't quite your scene (prunes, anyone?) there were plenty of opportunities to eat, of course. "I'm going for pizza; anyone want to join?" would not have been unexpected to hear at any moment in time. Some guys went up and introduced themselves to absolutely every attendee who crossed their paths, while others stuck to the small groups of friends they already knew. If Mean Girls taught me anything, it's that these groups are called cliques. And that cliques aren't always a bad thing, as there is safety in numbers after all. I find the number 922 feels particularly safe. So think about why you want to go, as you will shape your own experience. I wasn't sure exactly why I went last year and I found myself floating around a little confused for the first day or two. It's worth noting that I often float around a little confused for days and weeks at a time.

*You're curious and want to see what all the fuss is about. It's an infrequent and unusual event and the next one won't be for a while. If you're worried you'll regret not going more than going, give it a shot. And if you decide to go, I'll see you there. If not, I won't.

Sloppy Joes

Far be it from me to expect the gainers in the gainerverse to be runway ready at a moment's notice (we're hot, but these things have weight limits. Encouragers, you're not off the hook for this one) but whether it's for a trip to the grocery store (likely) or a starring role on Bravo's Make Me a Supermodel (less likely)

there are certain sartorial standards I hold for the fatties among us and it puts an upside-down smile on my face when they're dismissed or ignored. I don't expect every fatboy out there to know his Michael Kors from his Coors (hint: they're both a golden amber color) but whether you're shopping on 5th Avenue or in Aisle 5, here are 5 simple guidelines to keep in mind:

1) Stains, tears, and off-the-floor-after-two-weeks-in-a-ball-wrinkles are off limits. It happens. You're at a friends house enjoying morsels fresh from the grill and a big glob of ketchup falls

right on your shirt just over your left "pec" (still not a fan of moob). You're fat and it sticks out; get over it. Dab it with a little cold water and no sweat for the rest of the day... other guests probably spilled ketchup, too. But for goodness sake, don't wear the shirt again until you've given it a proper cleaning! When two-year-olds have stains on their Osh Kosh B'Gosh, it's cute. When grown men have stains on their clothes, it's nute. Not that there's anything wrong with slobby. If you're pigging out and get any number of condiments or pie fillings dribbled on your shirt, enjoy. Just not out and about later on.

They may not be instant stains, but

sweat stains totally count! They're sneaky little suckers that show up gradually, but that doesn't mean we can't see them. White shirts beware! With our thick blankets of chub, we're naturally warmer (and cuddlier, yes) and we will sweat more than an average fellow. This can be sexy, but when it builds up andturns yellow or crusty, it can not (unless you have a distinct fetish for such things). We have a few options: wear only shirts without sleeves (actually, no that's sub-rule #1A: No wearing only shirts without sleeves), Botox your armpits so you don't sweat (yes, you can have Nicole Kidman's face under your ams), live in a hermetic bubble with constant air conditioning (not good for belly rubs, though), or wear an undershirt (which is allowed to get sweaty and stained because no one can see it) even though it might mean a tad extra perspiration. Just don't let this get out of hand.

2) This sounds obvious, but wear clothes that fit. In public. Clothes that once fit or never will fit can be tremendous fun, but can look a tad cartoonish in the harsh light of day. If your shirt rises above your waistband when your arms are straight out to your sides, well that's actually fine by me. If your shirt rises above your waistband when your arms are at rest beside you, it might be time for an upgrade.

This is not to say we need to hide our chub under fumigation tents. It's sad to think Kevin Federline actually believed he was fooling anyone. Wearing overly long or baggy clothing just makes it look like you never grew out of your dress-up-as-an-adult phase from childhood. And we all know you've grown out of a lot of things. According to clothing manufacturers, I'm supposed to be taller if I'm this big around (clearly the problem is my height, not my circumference) so I have had to get pants shortened to avoid super knee-bunchage, which makes me look both like I belong in the lollipop guild and like I pay rule #1 about clothes off the floor no mind. Please, do what you can to avoid looking like a messy munchkin, even if you're tall.

Don't just buy the first pair of pants or shirt that will button over your lovely manly humps. Try different brands to find a few that work best for your proportions. A rose is a rose is a rose but an XL is not an XL is not an XL. When I go to a department store, I'm amazed at the different cuts that are out there, and don't even get me started on "trendy" cuts that come and go seasonally. Yes, I generally shop the variety available at department stores rather than stores that can be initialed with an ampersand and stop at a cruelly slim "38"; this means you, A&F and H&M. Even in a basic t-shirt, one might fit around

your belly, but not give you room to swing your arms for a seal clap. It might gently hug the bulge of your buried-under-flab-actual-pecs-from-all-those-pushups-you-do but give you Lady Gaga shoulder puffs.

Like my mama told me, you better shop around. One of the biggest complaints from new gainers, or fears of gainers-to-be, is trouble finding cute clothes. I'm not saying it will be easy. I'm not saying it will be cheap. But it will be worth it and you will look good when you finally find something that fits well and you're confident strutting to Burger King in. After 16 pairs of jeans that leave a gap behind the bottom of your spine or won't even get up past your thighs, finding that one that closes, stays up, and which doesn't have legs 70" in diameter will make Roma Downey appear in the fitting room and sing you a song. Just imagine meeting up with that cute encourager you've been talking with for a while wearing a shirt that shows the curve of your gut but leaves the happy trail covered and pants that are snug against your thicker rear without giving up the whole show... you have been touched by an angel food cake.

3) Unless you're continental in scope, wear your pants under your belly.

4) I don't want to be clothes-minded (thanks, Kenneth Cole marketing) so I leave you with a final guideline unrelated to clothing specifically. Take a shower! Seriously, we sweat more and have more rolly places for the sweat to hide. No one wants to hug a mountain of mildew, so give yourself a good hosing-off. Don't forget behind the ears.

No need to wax your face off, but keep hair (facial and cranial) well-groomed. Have a beard or moustache, but don't let it look like the tide is overrunning your chubby cheeks.

Wash your face twice a day. Floss once a day. No need to look greasy or waxy, tight or desert-y, so use an acne-treating version if you need one or a moisturizing formula if need be. Good hair is not matted to our foreheads in clumps so wash and condition yours as necessary, and/or put a little product in it. Tell your hair where you want it to go, but listen to where it wants to go.

5) Screw any of these guidelines if you don't like 'em* and be comfortable. And if you're not sure if a shirt is too small to wear out of doors,

please feel free to send me a picture wearing it so I can give my sincere help and guidance.

Yours in increasing figuring and figure-increasing,

PhilDoubt

*Except the flossing. A day of body odor over a day of plaque any time.

Colors of the whined

I heard (one or two) complaints that my blog's color scheme was being mean to your eyes, so I tried to make it gentler. Keep reading. (Actual posts coming soon.) Also, I'm totally kidding about whining; I appreciate the feedback. If my blog ever has broccoli in its teeth, please let me know!

Hate or Aide

Humans are walking contradictions. Fat people are waddling contradictions. There is probably an endless list I could produce of things I love and hate, well.... less-than-love about gaining, some in my brain, some in my closet, and some in my body. I've touched on some of how it feels emotionally to have gotten chunktastic and what I like about it and what gives me some pause. Just think, if getting fat gave me paws, I could be the richest circus attraction this side of the Mississippi!

Anyway, the gainerverse can be a place to tell people what they want to hear, but here, in simple list form, is what I love and doubt about what gaining has done to my appearance. Savor sweetly:

Hate (be glad these are not illustrated)

SKIN TAGS. Apparently these increase in the armpit area with added weight. I'd just as soon not have them.

THIGH CHAFING. The idea is hot, but the reality is painful at times! Fortunately this one is preventable with a bit of skin prep and the proper underwear.

THAT'S ABOUT IT.

Love/Hate

DOUBLE CHIN. Sometimes I can make myself believe I love that my face (the initial, most apparent visual element on a guy) has gotten fat and my neck is enrobed in a bit of chub. Some days I even think that with the chubbiness my face looks handsome. Some days I let my mind complete the thought with for a fat guy. My double chin has the amazing gift of being able to disappear in mirrors and appear magically in photos. When I started gaining, I didn't want a double chin. I was supposed to stop before one showed up. Oops. Since it's happened anyway, I've convinced myself I want one. I do like that it's obvious without even seeing my body that I'm fat now, but if someone offered me a pill that would give me a bit of a jawline again, I don't know for sure I'd refuse it. Of course, I absolutely love a good double chin on another fellow.

STRETCHMARKS. Ok, so I mostly love these. However, I'm in a bit of awe at guys who get truly big and round but never get them. Stretchmarks can be like freckles or curly hair: those who have them don't want them and those that don't have them want them. I both miss my curly hair and enjoy my stretchmarks. The ones on the front of my belly get the most attention, but they started on my lovehandles (a favorite beach look on a cute fratboy) and have migrated to my inner thighs, the top of my plumber's crack, and even around my underarms. I can't get away with saying I'm all belly anymore if they've covered that much square footage. It certainly helps that some other guys really like them on a gainer, too! And I do mean REALLY. Non-my-body aside: a gainerverse pet peeve of mine is encouragers (and this can include gainers who encourage) that (vocally) dislike stretchmarks on a guy. Seriously? I can completely understand if they're not your cup of tea or if you even don't care for the look at them, but don't tell guys to eat big and eat often, then recoil at the sight of the non-blubber revelers that come to enjoy the party, too.

Love

THE BELLY! "Don't you love how we can say that to each other and we know we're not being conceited? No... no, we're just being honest" It really does sound conceited, but my belly sprouted almost exactly as I'd hoped when I first decided to take the plunge and between the shape, the proportion, and the softness/firmness, it keeps me excited to see what more will do.

CHEST. It finally started filling in, all these years later after I'd nearly given up hope it would be anything but flat for the rest of my days. I wouldn't object if it didn't swoop around to the sides quite as much, but I'm fine with that.

LOVEHANDLES. They're just so cute on any guy, and fit the curve of a palm so perfectly. I don't really know if mine are visible from the back at this point, but I hope they are or will be soon.

BOUNCE. It is its own entity at this point, and it is about my favorite aspect of this all. Stairs have never been so fun!

Overall, I love the things I love much more than I hate the things I hate, so no worries. Except what kind(s) of Ben & Jerry's I have in the freezer for tomorrow night. So kids, have I missed something? What do you hate and love from your toes on up above?

Part Nerd

Why am I here? Don't worry, I didn't suddenly get deep. (Does that make me shallow?) I'm not talking about here on this earth, but here in this online gainerverse. What am I looking to contribute and what am I looking to get out of it?

Believe it or not, I'm not here to post as many hot and sexay pictures of myself as possible. A) I'm stingy with my camera. B) I think pictures are good to document changes and can be fun, but if I try to make them... lascivious, they turn out even funnier. I'd much rather y'all laugh with me than at me. Don't get me wrong, a compliment is rarely unwelcome, but I feel decent enough about myself that they aren't the driving force behind my putting myself out here in some capacity.

I've been fortunate to get to know some great folks who have offered online encouragement in the true sense of the word, reminding me I'm not crazy for my interests and providing a digital shoulder to lean on when I'm feeling less than sure I'm doing the right thing, as well as some wonderful face-to-face encounters, but I do feel that for the most part, my progress has been solo. And I've enjoyed it all immensely. However, I've pretty much gone as far as I want on my own. I've stayed steady for almost a year at this point for a blend of conscious and subconscious reasons. For one thing, I'm genuinely content at my size for the first time, wanting more but not needing it to feel good about where I am. For another, I don't want to hit my maximum all by myself and not get to share the experience with a really hot guy who cooks great dinners and makes me laugh more than when milk comes out of my nose. Milk has never come out of my nose, so that might not be a good set of criteria.

In a perfect world, I'd find encouragement in the context of a relationship. I don't think those two elements individually hold too much appeal at this point. I've dated with no encouraging/gaining element and I've had gaining/encouraging run-ins with not so much as a whiff of a relationship and while both are fun and have their place, they're somehow less-than-fulfilling in the grand scheme of fingerlings. And we all know gainers like things to be filling. Actually, if food's not filling we could get more in, but for folks who like the stuffed baked potato situation it wouldn't be as.... sidetracked. I got side dished for a moment there, and I do apolofries.

How much more fun would outgrowing my jeans be if I had a feller who couldn't wait to go shopping with me for new, bigger ones, insisting I try on a few in my old size(s) just to be sure? Speaking of which, part of the reason I'm hesitant to add more without a copilot is that I'm brink-big right now. I can shop at just about any store for clothes that fit fine, but the next couple (sets of 5) pounds will put an end to that flexibility and I would feel better going on the hunt with a Clark (Kent) to my (Huey) Lewis.

I tend to think of little detailed situations like that which would be improved with a fellow gainerversian , such as having some immediate, present support in the event I was on the receiving end of some unfortunate momments (See Letting Go by Massive Mike). Of course, this all relates to my own gaining. I'm pretty open to being with another fatty or a not-so-fatty so I can see myself being pretty supportive myself in a variety of directions. My sense of direction is not a strong suit of mine, so my willingness to travel in so many is another sign of progress. That and noticing a double chin in pictures where a chiseled jaw (go with me here) once reigned supreme. As more and more guys enter this world and I hear about more and more successful couplings, my hope will go on and on. Ow, I just banged my chest really hard. It's ok... there was a bit of insulation.

Do I want too much? Did I mix too many metaphors? Why do I have to ask for bread at California Pizza Kitchen?

Gainerspeak Lesson #43

So my friend Lary totally tried to voke ab me the other day. I was all like, "Voke ab ME?? Vocab U, Lary!!" Today's lesson: MOMMENT.

mom-ment

-noun

1. an awkward or unwelcome comment regarding one's gain from his mother, family member or the like; All I've gotten since we talked last were momments galore at my family reunion so let's talk about something, anything, else.

Superguys Me

Sometimes I wonder what I'm looking for in this digital gainerverse. Sometimes I wonder why they don't offer bread at California Pizza Kitchen anymore. Sometimes I think chunktastic celebrities are just that and sometimes I... don't (sorry Kevin James, I've never gotten it). I don't think bigger guys are attractive solely for being bigger, and there's room for smaller folk in my brain gallery of famous cuteness. So what am I looking for on this here internet doohickey? I'm still working on that, but here's some of what I'm looking at (completely NNSFW- not not safe for work). Granted, this post is slightly fluffy until I write something more substantial, but who doesn't like picture books?

The first lesson in celebrity thickenology for which I took copious notes. Josh Gracin.

What can I say? I like an athlete. Chris Pratt.

Slightly under the radar. CBS obviously stands for crafty bouffant style. Kyle Bornheimer.

I tuned into CSI: Miami to see a fellow (Jonathan Togo) rumored to be larger in season 7 than in season 1, but found my attention drawn to another. Oops. Adam Rodriguez. Why do I still watch this show?

I admit it: I thought he was handsome in his married dancer days, not that I would have said it out loud then. What happened after was least expected and most appreciated and I wasn't the only one to think so, leading me to come out of the closet. Kevin Federline.

I just want to play board games with him, I swear. Michael Cera.

Enchiladas, pizza, and goldfish crackers. Obviously I like me some cheese. What's that? My mistake! Whose Line Is It Anyway?, Don't Forget the Lyrics, and Let's Make a Deal. Obviously I like me some cheese. Wayne Brady.

The original. Prince Eric.

This list may be exhausting, but is by no means exhaustive and I'm still not sure why I felt compelled to share. Any you can't believe I didn't include? Any you think I'm crazy for including?

Martin Chewart Recipe File #129

In the mood for cinnamon rolls but all you have around is a donut shop? Have no fear! Martin Chewart is here, sponsored by Phil Doubt Productions!

Purchase one cinnamon-sugar donut and one vanilla frosted donut (with sprinkles to taste). Rinse and repeat as desired.

Slice the top off the frosted donut, just below the bottom edge of the frosting.

Pound remaining (now un) frosted donut and cinnamon donut into a rectangularish pancake, Play-doh style.

Roll it into an appetizing log (also Play-doh style).

Tip the roll over, so it looks more like a hockey puck than a tractor wheel. It should be bigger around than it is tall, or you messed up. Replace frosting decapitated from the once-frosted donut atop the puck.

Heat as desired.

Congratulations. You just made one silly cinnamon roll. Inspired by Luke. By accident.

Better Than Moobs

There has been some struggle in the gainerverse to find a better term for a fat man's chest than "moobs". This post does not have anything to do with that.

http://www.FunnyOrDie.com/m/3pkp

Better Than Phat

The obvious direction for this post would be southwest. The second most obvious would be talking about how for a gainer, THE ONLY THING BETTER THAN BEING FAT IS GETTING FATTER. All caps, multiple exclamation points implied. I might drift thataway, but I'm actually thinking of whom I'm better than. Clearly, I will be naming names of guys from various sites in the gainerverse who come nowhere near my level of hotness.

No no. There will be no naming of names, and I would never presume to think I'm hotter than anyone else, except for that one guy in that one city who took that one picture with that weird face. Seriously, fella, crop it out or make it pretty. In truth, I have struggled with a concept for some time that sometimes makes me feel a little guilty. Sometimes I feel better than fat people. There, I said it. Don't mistake this to mean I don't heartily endorse and appreciate chubs and fat people and I'm on board with the expansion of America's waistline, etc. etc. etc. Yet I can't shake the feeling that as an intentional gainer, I'm somehow in the lead against folks who have always been fat or who have accidentally piled on the pounds. Maybe a better way to put it is... I think my fatness is better, as I don't really think I am better than anyone else. Except Carrot Top. I'm not convinced I'm not better than Carrot Top.

Reason 1: There's a big difference between active and passive gaining. I was talking to a friend of mine recently about how much he enjoyed once hearing "look what college has done to you" from an old friend who hadn't seen him since he'd put on a hefty chunk of weight. Very hot. These sort of "what happened to you?" comments have always been a favorite of mine (See Mozzarella Sticks and Kidney Stones) but the fact is nothing happened to us. College, being in a relationship, and starting a desk job didn't do anything to us. We did this to ourselves. This, to me, is the difference between an accomplishment and an accident. It's tougher to be proud of an accident. But my mom sure is proud of me!

Reason 2: Clearly, I'm more observant than a fat guy. Don't get me wrong: I am all in favor of the oblivious fatboy. I am extremely grateful for all those guys sporting an extra 30 who have not updated their shirt wardrobes because they clearly have not realized how much of a difference has been made. But you've seen (and reversed) those before and after stories of some 300-lb fellow who saw a picture from some family trip and wondered how he got that way. I don't doubt there is some denial at play with these folks, but seriously? There wasn't a family photograph at 280? Or 250? Going up a pants size (pant size?) or two over time might be possible to dismiss as no big deal, but when a man graduates an entire tens-place from a 30-something waist to a 40-something waist, doesn't a bell ding somewhere? Also, I may not be able to see my feet when I look down anymore, but at least I've noticed I can't see my feet when I look down anymore. Do fat guys just not notice entire appendages have disappeared into a void?

Reason 3: It's a matter of pride. Do any of you remember the (extremely infuriating) original Nintendo game Marble Madness? That's how much my eyes roll when unintentionally fat guys mention being embarrassed to take their shirts off at the beach. Newsflash, chunks of the world: we can tell with or without a shirt. Ok, so I might be a little embarrassed to prance around shirtless in certain company, but not enough I wouldn't do it anyway. I love prancing. I love my belly. What could be better than combining the two? Sure, some beer-gutted fatties are proud of their guts, and show them off for pictures, but I think in general if someone offered them the chance to shed the blubber in a day, they would take it. I, however, would take a cannoli instead, considering I'm rather happy with my chub just the way it is (or on its way to bigger and better things). Score another for the gainerly-inclined among us.

Reason 4: I know we're not supposed to let such things cross our minds, but sometimes I think about losing weight. Not so much in the sense that I plan to do so, but the "what if" of it all. Something could come up that would force my hand and I'd need to or decide to shed weight. When this happens to fat guys, their world is thrown into a tizzy. They have to completely change the lifestyle to which they have gotten so comfortably accustomed, sometimes without even realizing it. I have quite intentionally adjusted my eating habits to get this physique; they just... ate. Because I've had to work to add the snacks and desserts that have led me to my present state, removing them wouldn't feel like such work. Disappointing as it may be for some in the gainerverse, I'm not a natural face-stuffer and it takes a decent effort to overeat to the point of gaining. In a bizarre way, I find it comforting that should the time ever arise to lose weight, I would know exactly what to change to do so. It wouldn't necessarily be easy, but at least unlike an accidental fat guy, I wouldn't be floundering for Step 1. Floundering... I suddenly either want to go for sushi or watch The Little Mermaid.

As I was saying, darling I'm better... take it from me. Or something like that.

Bane of My Gainerly Existence #130

Bathtubs. Specifically, my bathtub.

Dear bathtub designers of America,
Your product often makes me feel like a walrus in a Chinese finger trap: it's easy to get into but the harder I try to escape, the more difficult it gets.

First, the length. I am a short guy by most accounts. Why do I have to curl into the fetal position just to have 30% of my body submerged? While I appreciate the gentle slope of the end of my tub not under the faucet, why must that slope lead to a perfectly vertical wall of tile? Oh, I've tried various foam and inflated bath pillows but a six inch square of a posturepedic mattress knockoff wrapped in my grandma's old shower curtain vinyl simply does not ease the unfortunate angles in a tub that is perhaps 2.5 feet long at most.

Walruses flop around. They have tusks and flippers that don't seem to serve much purpose unless they're playing a giant game of slow motion marine pinpall. When I attempt to get out of the bathtub, I realize my arms are like the flippers of a walrus: useless. Unless I feel like yanking down my shower rod (I don't.) there is nothing to grab onto for support as I attempt to release myself from your ceramic and fiberglass chamber of impossibility. Notice folks say they're going to "hop in the shower" but no one says they are going to "hop out of the bathtub." I inevitably heave myself over the edge of the tub to my bath mat, reversing all the (non)effort I put into relaxing with my lavender-and-cedar bath oil. Also, I feel the need to visit an orthodontist about my big front tusks.

I can only imagine the hardships faced by my friends who are 6 inches taller or 25 pounds heavier. It must be like adding extra yeast to your bread recipe: it seems like a good idea until the dough rises and overflows the loaf pan (Colonial Ricardos, anyone?). You have left me with two options: installing one of those old-people handles onto the wall (Where is that darn AARP catalogue when you need it?) or writing a congratulatory letter to the shower designers of America for making my life as easy as you have difficult.

Walrusly yours,
Phil Doubt

P.S. I do enjoy the belly island effect when I lie down in your creation, it must be said.

Delusions of Grande

*Part 2 (Or: He's Not Done YET? Or: Delusions of Grande-er)
So the entirety of the outside world may not consider me as desirable as the inside world of gaining. So what? Didn't I spend enough time worrying about what people thought of me in high school? Clearly not, based on the accidentally-dyed-orange fro and overalls with collared velour shirt look I was rocking back in the day. That's right: rocking. I loved it, even if it put me outside the A Group in high school ("Oh my God! We weren't in the C Group, were we?" "Oh God no; that was, like, all the losers and honor students.") And corny as it is, isn't what we think of ourselves really the most important at the end of the day? As the wise sage RuPaul says, "If you don't love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?"

We know the fact we're fat and getting fatter is most attractive indeed, but how do we gauge our own attractiveness when it's so tied to how fat we are and that's a hard thing to gauge? (Note to self: Gage could be a hot name for a six-packer) Most growing boys I talk to (and I'm no exception) have a really hard time telling how big we are/appear to others. For the most part, we tend to see ourselves as smaller than we appear to the general population. Occasionally I come across the starting gainer who has put on 12 pounds and thinks he's suddenly a blimp and get a little chuckle, but I've been there. When it's the first time venturing above your normal weight and it's the biggest you've ever been, it's huge relatively speaking. Then I stop chuckling and apologize for being amused. That could very well be how guys who've put on 150 pounds see someone like me: aw, isn't it cute he thinks he's a big boy now**.

There's just no standard, objective formula to determine how fat someone is. There are so many variables: height, bone heartiness (some people really are big-boned!), fat location location location, softness vs firmness, and Capricorn-ness vs. Piscesness. At least in our happy little family, BMI is fairly widely considered a moo point (ask Joey Tribbiani). Two guys can be similar heights, similar weights, and both carry the bulk of their bulk in their bellies, yet one looks more like the Michelin Man and one can look closer to Violet Beauregarde. So how do we go about determining our own size? Or do we? Perhaps we don't have a set "bigness" and it can ONLY be subjective. My hair, for instance, has been described as blonde (by people with hair darker than mine) and as brown (by people with hair lighter than mine). Is either wrong? No, they're just both right to different people.

So where do we turn? The scale? Pants size? Note regarding pants size: when I hold up my pants to fold or hang, they look pretty darn wide to me, but I have convinced myself they magically shrink to a slightly-above-average width when I actually put them on. I find photographs to be helpful, but even then I tend to see how much bigger I am than I used to be, so they're more for comparison's sake than this. is. how. fat. I. am. now. How about the mirror? Mine obviously lies, showing me a previous version of myself; the mirror and photographs never seem to agree on my size. I tend to turn to other guys. I don't mean to tell me how fat I am. **My personal gainer's paradox is that I want so very much to be told how fat I am (and for the fat-caller to mean it) but then I don't believe I'm as fat as he says I am. Go figure (it out: gratuitous call out of the blog name alert!). No, what I mean is I find it helpful to see my body next to another fatboy's and see where I fall on the fatness spectrum next to him. "Oh, I'm bigger than that?" or "Guess I've got some work to do in Zones 2, 5, and 6B!". In my perfect world, I would locate my exact body double, someone my height who carried the same weight in the same way, so I could look at my own fatness on another person, at 360 degrees. But for lack of a perfect world, I'll have to settle for that oh-so-fun game: Am I bigger than him? Is he bigger than me? His ass is bigger than mine, right? My gut is rounder than his, isn't it? Now that's what I call a Saturday!

For the record, I don't mind not having a particularly accurate body image, as I do find it helps keeps me motivated to keep going. I can't imagine being in much of a rush if I envisioned myself a foot bigger around than I actually am! How about you? How do you determine your own bigaciousness? Or for those who may be closer to the encouraging end of the spectrum, do you determine a gainer's?

Delusions of Grande

You can't perceive without receive. And you can't receive without vice. And you can't vice without ice. And you can't... why do I suddenly want ice cream?

Pardon my cranial drifting. I don't really edit/revise these blog posts, as you may be able to tell. As a result, maybe I come across as scatterbrained or pleasantly conversational, perhaps confused or perhaps genius. Who knows what you think of me as you read my blog (thanks, by the way, especially to those of you who have commented to give me some insight)? And that brings us to this post's topic: perception.

A lot of the gainerverse exists solely online, a land of people who will never talk to another resident, who will never put up a picture or at least won't show their faces, which is fine, as there's a balance between "lurkers" and folks who treat gaining sites like any social networking site, replete with candid snapshots and notes on the latest movies seen, sometimes to the point of oversharing (I'm sorry you wet the bed until you were 28, but I'm not sure your profile is quite the right forum for that). We get to choose how "out" we are, how much of ourselves we want to reveal, based on what we're comfortable with, and there's room for everybody. What we can't control is how the images and words we put out are translated by those stumbling upon them.

Probably my favorite aspect of the online gainerverse is the validation it brings that I'm not in this alone. I might be crazy, but not for my interest in gaining. There. Are. Others. I can't know whether guys out there think I'm funny, ugly, nice, snobby, hot, dumb, or have tragically poor taste in shower curtains, but but just by existing, the online gainerverse is a supportive network of semi-likeminded fellows, which makes me feel good. Even if it's not directed at me specifically, seeing a guy who's put on an obvious inch get sincere kudos -why do I suddenly want Kudos?- makes me feel better about my endeavors; this is a place where we won't be shunned but rather applauded for a rather bizarre pursuit. Going through a drought? Encouragement that things will turn around is just around the photo comment. Sometimes because I can tend to surround myself in the gainerverse at home nestled snugly between my four walls, I forget that it's not the real world. Which is not to see that there isn't an offline gainerverse- events like Expansion and successful couplings from our midst tell the tale- but the rest of the world is not quite so supportive as this safe(is) cocoon we've created in cyberspace.

Sometimes I worry I've read one too many gainer stories when I notice a "conventionally" attractive fellow and figure he'll likely be into my less-than-trim self, just like in that one story (you know, the one with the guy and the other guy and the eating and the weight gain and that moment when the chubster is comforted by the hottie with the six-pack and piercing eyes gently placing his hand on fatboy's belly and whispering in his ear how hot it's been watching him plump up like he has and said hottie wants to continue the efforts overtly as they skip off to the Baskin Robbins hand in pudgy hand with eyes newly twinkling in both parties). I'm not exactly massive*, but I'm big enough that I can't get away with "put on a few" anymore and from spending so much time in the virtual company of my fellow gainers and encouragers sometimes I forget that not every guy out there is into a big-boned gentleman. For the record, I'm not afraid of the word "fat"; I am genuinely big-boned and have never been able to wrap my thumb and forefinger around my wrist. So there. I've been fortunate never to have been dismissed with a sneer or rude comment, but my occasional forays into smiling at a cute boy on the subway have been met with... nothing. Like I wasn't even there. Side note: I still don't know how to flirt, which may also play a role... why do I suddenly want a fruit roll-up?

Do you ever forget that the world isn't waiting to fall at the invisible feet of a handsome porker? Whether it's intrinsic or they've fallen prey to society's standards male beauty (clearly, this is all Men's Health's fault!), the average guy who likes guys likes guys who aren't fat guys which I like being. Do I find this discouraging? Sometimes. But then I remember there's always a limited pool of who will be into someone. Blond hair, brown eyes, glasses, argyle, hairy backs, mustaches, lacks of mustaches, and an affinity for Velveeta could all be dealbreakers to some guys out there. But they could also be huge draws to others, so while I know that the entire world isn't living in the gainerverse, I know there are enough residents I can't scare off EVERY guy. Just a chunk of them. In a way, it's almost helpful. To the fit encourager solely into fatties and fatties-to-be, fellow fit-and-staying-that-way guys expressing interest might be flattering but frustrating (that's about as deep into the mind of an encourager I'll attempt to go for the time being) whereas I'm much more likely to draw a friend of the chub now than when I was waffling about whether or not to gain... and why do I suddenly want... nah, I already had breakfast. But if a nice boy into my personal brand of chubosity has mixed plaid with polka dots, I have an appointment the day he wants to take me on a date. Why do I suddenly want a nice heap of fiber-rich dried dates? That's right, I don't.