El pollo loco and the power in my pants

I'm beginning to understand why people act all crazy when they're obsessed with working out. Margaret Cho said that when you go on a diet, the first thing you lose is brain mass. I used to go to the gym three times a week and now I'm there every day for at least two hours. And just when I think that I'm at a point where I feel comfortable with myself, along comes a guy with a fantastic body. Then I get all discouraged and I feel all stupid and ugly. Fortunately, the voice of Frank Sinatra still booms in my head whenever I find myself confronted with a self-esteem issue like that. He keeps me sane =)

But sometimes I get mired in the precarious web I've unknowingly woven for myself with every pullup and situp I've performed at the gym. Yesterday I ate at KFC. I wasn't even that hungry. It was just... there. As I bit into the chicken, I heard myself screaming FAT! GREASE! SODIUM! FAT! FAT! FAT! like I was betraying my body with the anti-nutritional value of the chicken. The rest of the day I kept beating myself up over my poor meal choice. Where the fuck did all of that come from? I only hope that this behavior doesn't progress in that direction. I don't want anyone to make a website called feedrichie.com.

As I left the gym this morning, I passed a woman and her child. The wind blew my coat open and it revealed the tight pants that I was wearing. The woman looked down at my package, looked at me, looked back at my package, and covered her son's eyes. She hurried along past me and I smiled sweetly, comforted with the knowledge that all of that working out was worth something... the power to frighten small children with my killer thighs.