I’m worried about this entry. It has me chewing on my pencil, staring off into space, and not at my notebook (which is resting in my lap, on my stylish Kenneth Cole pants.) Shit. I’m doing it again.

Why am I worried about this entry? Well, read the title. I’m facing a multitude of problems. I have to tell my wife. Will my friends treat me the same way? Are my teeth even white enough for me to be gay?

Ok, I’m lying. I still totally dig on hot chicks (Note: if we were in the same room together, you would see me with my righthand up in the area, expecting a kick-ass high five coming from you, bro!) but weight loss has definitely started me on a confusing and dubious path toward sexual ambiguity.

Let’s start with the gym, since I talk it so frequently. “What’s wrong with the gym?” you ask. Yeah, sure, at the downtown Bally Total Fitness you’ve got lots of ladies in skimpy workout attire hanging around the aerobics room – but is that where I am? No, I’m either on the elliptical – a tortuous contraption the sole purpose of which is the slamming and building of glutes – or I’m wandering around the free weights, where dudes in muscle shirts flex constantly and perform squat thrusts.

“Yeah, but you’re not talking with them, right? You’re in a zone, listening to headphones and concentrating.”

This is true, but it only underscores what I’m talking about. I really, really enjoy my iPod. If it were socially acceptable to tune out everyone during all parts of my day, that’s probably what I’d be doing. And even though it isn’t, it’s still a vital part of making sure that exercising isn’t sheer drudgery. I’ve loaded hundreds of albums onto my iPod, ensuring that there’s no shortage of kickass rock and metal with which to power through my marathon workout sessions. But, with all this musical freedom at my disposal, what album do you think I have listened to most actively, while working out, during the last couple months?

Michelle Branch: The Spirit Room.

Yeah, I’m not kidding. There’s a running joke in the movie “The 40-Year-Old Virgin,” which involves the two dufus-y supporting actors riffing on what makes the other “gay.” Well, let me toss my own into the ring.

“You know how I know you’re gay? You work out to Michelle Branch.”

That’s a pretty good one.

Fashion is another component of this discussion, and one that I will revisit in greater detail at a later date (Have you ever been inside a men’s “Big & Tall Store?” Yikes.) Suffice it to say – I now find myself shopping in places I use to disdain, like the Gap. I even find myself occasionally interested in shirts sold to Buffalo Exchange by waiflike Emo boys.

There’s more. Grooming is a good one. You know, in the seven years between 1998 – by which point my most grievous cases of teenage acne were no longer a problem – and 2005 I probably washed my face a total of zero times. That’s right! Now we’re into the dailies. And karaoke! You know the total number of times I’d karaoked – in my life – before December 2005? Zero. Number of times having visited the Boiler Room last week? Three.

THREE. I’m there more than some of the employees.

The list goes on, and on, and on.

Ok, perhaps I should take a step back, breathe deeply, and evaluate this situation critically. At best, this evidence is merely circumstantial. I’m never going to be confused with someone who has strong fashion sense. I still don’t understand the importance or appeal of a proper set of shoes. I do karaoke because I’m your typical class clown dumbass. Finally – with the amount of material on my iPod that comes from the bands Genesis, Rush, Queensryche, Dream Theater, Yes and Asia, it’s clear that I’m far too nerdy to be gay. Whew. Well, that’s a relief. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find someone who TIVOed American Idol.