Satisfied

Back in New York City for a summer teaching job. In many ways, New York is what I need right now. But it's still a struggle: so many good looking, muscular guys.

I haven't purposely gained in several months, and I don't intend to start anytime soon. It took me a long time to realize it, but purposely putting on weight doesn't make me happy. I love the fantasy and I will always be attracted to muscle and bulk, but it isn't what I need right now. I still lift heavy and it would be nice if some more muscle came with it -- but I'm focusing on strength gains, not size.

I'm currently doing a whole bunch of core work - pilates, crunches, and decline sit-ups to flatten out the belly a bit. I've been drinking a lot less than I was in L.A., and I've been cutting carbs and focusing on my cardio. I can see a difference, based on the way my clothes are fitting. And I'm starting to shed some of the "puffiness" that came with the extra water weight. I will never be a Chelsea Boy anytime soon, but I'm trying to find a balance. It's like that old Alcoholics Anonymous adage: one day at a time. Some days are easier than others.

Flashback: Date Night (2007)

"You're very nice," he says. "But it's just...you're very young. It's not you, it's me..." He pauses for a moment before he slips on his sandals to let me out.

"Well, it's not like we're getting married." I smile as I say the last part - I'm hurt, but I don't want him to think he's upset me. Because if I tell him what I really feel he might not invite me back. Maybe he'll never want to talk to me again.

I almost wish he'd never invited me back to his house, and I don't know why I even bothered wasting my time in the first place. He's obviously not been interested in me, but I've kept trying anyway in the hope that I can change his mind. I hate myself for being so needy, but I hate him even more for doing the 'right' thing and being honest with me.

People tell me I'm a friendly person, and I like to think that's the case. "You're very nice, but..." But what? My waist is too big, my sense of style's not good enough. Too young. Too immature. Always the Betty Cooper, never the Veronica Lodge.

We make small talk for a bit and he tells me about a guy he wants to set me up with who "would be perfect for me - and he likes younger guys. Skinnier guys, like you." I've heard that line before, but I don't say anything. On my way out, he gives me a hug and tells me that I'm cute. Like a doll, I think, frustrated with him for being so patronizing. But mostly, I'm frustrated with myself.

In the meantime, it's 2 AM and I don't want him to pick up on these thoughts. I smile and hold out my hand to him. "Friends?" I ask. He shakes my hand. That's all I am, I guess. Just everyone's friend.