Nothing But Net

If you follow my non sequiturs elsewhere on the web, you would have noticed that I have started going to the gym after midnight. This is for several reasons: I’m up anyway, the gym is empty and I don’t have to wait of equipment, but mostly it is due to my worsening Agoraphobia, or Anthropophobia. It is easier to have the entire gym to myself in the middle of the night. 

A couple of weeks back I stepped into the empty basketball court, just to get a drink of water. As I paused to wipe my chin I noticed the basketball court was completely flooded with light. A sense of emptiness was overwhelming as it usually was filled to capacity with guys at various stages of shooting hoops. That night it was deserted. The smell of the hardwood, along with the strange buzz left-over from high school gym class hung in the air.  I get a strange feeling on basketball courts. A feeling of wanting to be in control, wanting the mastery of the wood and colorful lines, the enjoyment and comradeship of competition. Yet, as I stood next to the water fountain, the feeling of eighth grade gym class washed over me. The same feeling I would get from sitting in the CEO chair in a board room, hosting a dinner party, or being in front of a naked woman. A feeling of not understanding what should happen. A feeling that everyone around me knows the natural chain of events (enjoys them in fact) but hasn’t let me into the circle. 

As I turned to leave the uncomfortable environment, I noticed a basket ball over in the corner.... Without thinking I went over and picked it up. I attempted to dribble. I wasn’t that bad. Until I hit my shoe. I walked out in front of the basket. All the technique I had ever learned was from Mr. Johnson’s gym class during the First Bush administration. 

Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Missed. 
Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Not even close. 
Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Missed. 
Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Hit the rim.

I left the court, and turned in the ball to the front desk as if I had a great game with my boys. The next night I found myself back on the wood. 

Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Not even close.
Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Hit the rim.

I had watched a dozen YouTube videos. I took notes on finding my aim...

Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Hit the rim.
Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Nothing but net.

I squealed. As I heard the squee bounce off the gym walls the glass court door opened and in walked a couple of guys talking to me in Greek about a “pick up” game. I pretended I was a deaf-mute and ran out of the court like a chunky eight year old girl running home, after the mean girls would not let her play Barbies. I left the ball on the wood.

The next night. I stood with fortitude. I announced to the empty gym, “This is Sparta!” 

Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Nothing but net.
Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Nothing but net.
Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Nothing but net.

Six Years of Stevie B.

Today marks the sixth anniversary for the Nice To See Stevie B. blog.  Six years of teenage girl angst. 

Way back in 2007 Apple Introduced the iPhone, The Final Harry Potter book is published, the movie 300: A Love Story was a hit at the box office, and An Inconvenient Truth won an Oscar for best documentary. On November 11th I posted my very first blog entry. 

My pre-iPhone, 2007 selfie

It is ironic that I started to blog because I so loved, and fatefully followed gay bloggers that are now long gone. Disappeared into the ether of gay bloggerness. So let us mark today as six years of pathologically narcissistic Stevie B rambling on about the common Homo in its natural environment. 

I do have to mark the occasion by saying that these years have been truly amazing. The blog has facilitated in me meet amazing fellow bloggers, to bond and make great friends, and help in me expressing my pent-up energy of warped imagination. 

In honor of that first blog entry I thought I repost it in all its teenage girl diary angst. God, I’m a drama queen.

November11th, 2007 

Road Trip

So, I'm leaving on a road trip tomorrow to take my partner of four years to New York. He's moving to Brooklyn. This is something that he's always wanted; all his friends have ended up in the city. I'm trying to be supportive, trying to keep his spirits up and keep him focused on what a great thing this will be. Yet, he is leaving his job, selling his car and moving to a strange city. He'll finally get to live in the city with all of his friends and close to all the theater and museums that he loves. 

It just hit me about an hour ago that my lover/partner and friend is leaving. He had been my very closest friend through the years since we met in Dallas, and I always knew that he wanted to live in a bigger city, Dallas was too small and Denver was really too small. I know that living in NY will be the very best thing that could possibly happen to him. So when you know that a friend wants something badly you just help out however you can. I don't need this to be a downer but suddenly I'm really pissed and sad. When you sleep next to someone for all these years then suddenly they’re gone. It hurts my head. 

We're driving his moving van through to Brooklyn, NY and I've mapped out all the fast food places I want to stop and eat. Runza, Steak and Shake, and the best; White Castle. Although I'm pissed that there is not a single Jack n the Box on the way but, I do love me some White Castle. Leave it to me to be dumped by a guy, help him move across the country to get away from me, then be excited about fast food joints along the way. 

The Dome

No. Not the television show.  In real life they are building the worlds largest dome....

Extra nerd points if you know why.

*photo credit and answer here.

Mid-night at the Gym

Sometimes people ask me, when finding out that I prefer to workout in the middle of the night, why I do it. Act like a nocturnal gym rat. A plate-pusher of the night. 

Well, to night was a perfect example. The decline bench, when used correctly, has one lying on one's back with the head steeply angled lower than the legs. I use this bench to do crunches. Sit-ups, but with my feet hooked onto a bar high above my head. My goal is to do so many crunches that I am to physically to tired to get off the bench without effort.  

Tonight I achieved my goal. Releasing my feet I rolled onto the floor. Not realizing (at first) that my gym shorts had caught on the bench. As I stood up I was sans pantalones. My iPod dangled from my ear buds. Mr. Floppy just dangled. No underwear, no gym shorts. Just nakedness from my sweaty tee-shirt down.

As I started to untangle my shorts from my gym shoes, I looked around. Know one was around to see my... Furry butted faux pas. 

And that, folks is why I workout in the middle of the night. 

5 Foods That Still Have Trans Fats -- But Won't For Long

http://huff.to/1bdMD1y

Although The U.S. Food and Drug Administration plans to officially ban trans fats, they're still out there. Another reason not to eat French fries.