For reasons I won't get into (I'm sick, essentially), my ass is being handed to me this week.

I am so dizzy that I nearly fell down a flight of Metro escalator stairs. My vision is blurry and I can barely make out the words on my computer screen. At times I feel nauseous, and the rest of the time I have a stomach ache. A headache comes and goes, and I'm so tired that I could literally fall asleep if I close my eyes for too long. Thank god there's nothing going on at work this week because I'm finding it impossible to focus on a thought or action for more than a moment. Like, what the fuck.

I should be feeling better in a week or two. Otherwise, back to the doctor I go.

Posted by Toby at 03:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (29)

Or that I can't play the guitar.

Posted by Toby at 10:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

Bodybuilding.com's "Fondry" says he works out because he "got tired of being a skrawny kid." Nevertheless, he still sees a "skrawny kid staring back at me" when he looks in the mirror. Hmm, sounds like we have a lot in common.

Addendum: Screw this guy - if his threads are any indication ("what to stack at the end of my cycle," "IGF and GH gut," and, hilariously, "Hair loss, what worked for you"), he's juicing. No wonder he gained 20 pounds of muscle in five months. Good job, moron.

Posted by Toby at 06:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

After years of abuse and misuse, my gym bag finally fell apart.

I bought it a while ago at Filene's Basement and have since marveled at how something branded with the New Balance logo could be such a piece of shit. The zippers were shoddy and the opening to the main compartment was awkward and small. One of the "feet" on the bottom of the bag fell off a few months back, which vaguely annoyed me. Also, it sort of smelled weird (surely through no fault of my own).

Its only redeeming quality was the way in which the shoulder strap pulled across my chest and accentuated what little pectoral muscle I have. For this reason alone I held onto the bag until the bitter end - that is to say, when the inner lining ripped and my dirty underwear nearly spilled out onto 14th Street. I really don't need the whole world to know that I still wear the ratty boxer shorts purchased from Aeropostale seven years ago when I was in 11th grade.

So last week I went to the mall and used a portion of my measly monthly blog revenue to buy the greatest gym bag known to man. This is essentially the bodybuilder equivalent of a Hermes Birkin bag.

And it even has a little retractable keychain within the front pocket. Like, OMG.

Now that I have my new gym bag, maybe I'll focus on buying a pair of gym shorts that fit. (Spandex always fits, right?) Small steps, people. Small steps.

Posted by Toby at 07:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (11)

This was basically me on Sunday at 9:04 p.m.

She's human, after all. I'm going to give her another chance because I don't give up that easily. And neither should she.

Posted by Toby at 11:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (17)

Thank god for Sarah Silverman, because SOMEONE had to do SOMETHING after that abortion of a VMA performance just now.

But you know, ultimately, those jokes about her vagina and her poor neglected children and her downward-spiral career trajectory are undeserved. Because she deserves NOTHING. She doesn't deserve a comeback. She doesn't deserve our attention. She doesn't even deserve our condescension.

But for one last time - and this is a promise - I will heed her mind. So pay attention.

Here are some tips for the next time you decide to embarrass yourself and your fans on live national television.

1. LOSE SOME FUCKING WEIGHT.

2. And if you are too lazy to do No. 1, then put on some damn clothes. You are TOO OLD and TOO FAT for sequined panties.

3. Try using your rehearsal time to LEARN THE CHOREOGRAPHY.

4. Also, BOTHER TO LEARN THE WORDS TO YOUR SONG.

Oh, I'm sorry, are we boring you out here in the audience? Well, WAKE UP. You get ONE CHANCE with me, and you fucking blew it.

Honestly, I am so disappointed and enraged and sad that I cannot even form words. What would you say about her performance? Can you think of ONE POSITIVE THING to say? I can't. Not even one. She has proven herself to be entirely undeserving of my adoration. Goodbye, Britney. The train has pulled away from the station, and I'm moving on.

Posted by Toby at 09:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

There is this great tool on Bodybuilding.com that allows you to create printable workout logs that can also be saved as reusable PDF files. I made one for each day that I work out - Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday.

Aside from a grid on which to mark weight and reps, there are fields where you hand-write the date, the time, and your "mood." For mood, I'll normally put "Happy," "Tired," "Calm," "Hungover" - whatever I happen to be feeling that particular day. It actually serves as a pretty good reference for the following week.

Well, halfway through this afternoon's workout, I for some reason thought I'd forgotten to enter a mood. When I looked down at the sheet, I saw that I had, indeed, already filled it out.

For today's mood, without even thinking, I had simply written "Tan."

And I am. Tan, that is - thanks to a great weekend in the Outer Banks. Seriously, being this tan is more than a state of physical perfection; it's a state of mind.

Posted by Toby at 11:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

I was in the kitchen earlier this evening, whipping up a fresh batch of frozen boneless chicken wings and thinking to myself about how I'm going to make a wonderful homemaker some day, when I got a hankering for my favorite powdered beverage, none other than Crystal Light.

My goodness, I love me some Crystal Light. I could drink an entire pitcher of the stuff in one sitting. And I have. And I did. Tonight. Hmm - I wonder what happens when you drink a gallon of flavored water moments before going to bed? I'm guessing I'll find out at some point around 4 a.m.

What happened next is an indictment of the fact that I should never be allowed to live by myself. As the pitcher filled with water, I tore the foil lid from the Crystal Light container with my teeth, effectively causing most of the powder to explode into my left eye. It hurt more than you'd think. A LOT more.

I dropped the container and screamed out in pain - but no one was in the apartment to hear my cries! With my life flashing before my one unflavored eye, I consulted the Crystal Light box for guidance. Shockingly, there were no instructions in case of direct exposure to the eye. Also shocking: no results for this.

Sigh. I should probably call out sick tomorrow. No one wants to catch pink eye; I'd imagine pink lemonade eye is equally contagious.

Posted by Toby at 10:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)