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.

Winter Wait

Dear goodness! I seem to have skipped right over a month there! Bad blogger. Bad blogger. Ok, now I'm just getting turned on. Just kidding, we all know I'm into other things. Well, we've made it through Chanukah, Christmas, Boxing Day, the beginning of Kwanzaa, and Britney Spears's birthday. All important.

I hope everyone had a good holiday season. Except the people I don't like. Sidenote to you folks: please stop reading my blog. If you didn't have a good one, there's always next year. Unless what made your holiday season so bad was the news that you only have 2 days to live.

So I love this time of year. Snow, more glitter than you can shake a stick at (seriously, who shakes sticks at things?), obscenely cheerful music from every store on the block, and the opportunity to lose some weight. Cue record needle screeching. That last one was sarcastic, in case you couldn't tell. Oh, it happens all right, but I don't love it.

Everyone talks about putting on winter weight, etc. but this year it just wasn't in the cards for me. First, I didn't go to tons of holiday parties with tons of fatty snacks about. One I attended provided plenty of champagne... and endive boats. They were delicious, but my pants weren't tight by the time I left. Second, my coworkers didn't start bringing in homemade tarts and goodies by the bucketload, and I couldn't exactly afford to pretend to bring in a sufficient quantity for everybody and then sneak most of it for myself, either. Third*, Mom.

Does anyone else have this issue? In anticipation of potential criticism from parents or family (not the "hehe, someone's hungry" type, but the "we need to talk" type), I cut back on my caloric intake a bit. I don't exactly rush out to Ye Olde Orthopedic Shoppe for a girdle in an attempt to hide the changes since my last visit, but I admit I do try to cut back on how much I add to The Situation. Don't pretend you haven't watched at least 5 minutes of Jersey Shore. Then when I'm actually around my family, I'm even worse: "Gee, how could I have gotten this extra padding? Certainly not from all the excess eating I don't do! See how I'm leaving 1/8 of my entree and pretending I don't want to order dessert?"

Sometimes I think I worry too much about what other people think, but then I think I'm just not living in a bubble. Everything in moderation, even non-moderation, right? It would be like if I took to highlighting my hair and my parents thought it made me look like a cactus. It's one thing to continue highlighting, but it's quite another to take my mom with me to the salon while I bleach my hair to melanin-free oblivion. Am I alone in this? Do others view holiday meals with possibly critical family as you're-not-the-boss-of-me times? Or are some measures taken to minimize pig-looking-like around certain crowds?

Remember, stressed spelled backwards is desserts. Desert spelled backward is just tresed.

*Also, just not in as much of a rush as I have been in the past.