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.

Note: The following post is neither parody nor satire, in a strict sense, but nevertheless it should be taken as tongue-in-cheek, and certainly not as advocacy for any unhealthy activities.

Before I get started, I need to explain something: the title to this post comes from the television show Arrested Development, which everyone should be watching, but – sadly – few people are.

The particular affliction to which I’m alluding is, of course, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, which should not be taken lightly. Of course, what am I about to do? I’m about to take that shit most lightly.

Not really – actually, I have great respect for OCD, from which I believe I suffer (albeit a fairly mild case.) Why do I have great respect for it? Because, without it, I’m not sure I would be here, weighing what I weigh and posting about it on the internet. My particularly helpful version of OCD manifests itself thusly: when I am convinced I need to do something, in order to reach a goal that I have deemed important, I will perform this activity with great resilience and without fail.

Nowhere is this more evident than in my experience with the gym. For years, I was dead set against the gym: “Why do I need a gym membership?” I scoffed at my wife, Amy. “I walk four times a week, rain or shine. Look at my shoes!” At which point I would produce muddy, disheveled pair of New Balance running shoes.

To her credit, my wife is as stubborn as I am obsessive, and several days after this particular conversation, in the fall of 2003, I found myself taking a tour of Bally Total Fitness, which I later joined (that day). And, upon joining, I saw the light, and the OC (I really shouldn’t call it that) stuck its boot up my ass, and I found myself at the gym no fewer than five times a week. I began to plan my days around going to the gym, and if I didn’t get to go, I would become sullen, then angry. No, this isn’t particularly healthy or well-adjusted behavior, but it’s been effective.

This tendency I’m describing extends beyond the gym, as well. When I hit a set point, described here, it was a modification in diet that made all the difference, and a little bit of obsession that made it happen. See, when you work out five times a week, you begin to build up a rather aggressive metabolism. Then, when you resolve to consume no more than 1,500 to 1,600 calories daily (not including alcohol, on the weekends), your stomach is going to start making furious sounds, and you’re going to get uncomfortable. And when you’re uncomfortable, you’re going to need something pushing you forward, in spite of the discomfort. For some, this is God, for others, family; for me, it was a constant, unrelenting pressure to just do it (sorry, NIKE), and do it right.

Okay, that last bit was over the top, and tongue-in-cheek, but I think my point stands: if you’re going to change your life, you’re going to need to change your mindset toward a lot of things. To put it succinctly: to get physically healthy, you might just have to get a little mentally unhealthy.