I wanna be a hottie.

Ok, so maybe Caroline Rhea isn’t going to sign me up to be a contestant on Biggest Loser T.V. Show any time soon. Well, not for my weight. But I have slowly come to realize that something needs to be done.

Sure I could give you the same tedious whines you read else where about shirts and pants not fitting the same or feeling lethargic. But I live in the South where such things on men are badges of honor not sources on embarrassment. The real truth is that I want to be a babe magnet. I’m not really THAT fat. But I’m not getting checked out either like I used to.

So, I finally look for a gym that I think will be OK and I won’t feel like a roach. Really, I need Jenny Craig for guys. There, as humiliating as it is, I admitted it. So, I go to my first appointment with the fitness counselor. This is the sharp, friendly funny guy who hypnotizes you. Then he promises you everything under then sun, makes you think he’s going to be your best friend ever, and you believe him because you want to and he has special hypnotic powers which can separate you from your money.

Relieved of several hundred dollars, I go out for the Last Supper. Mexican food.