This is the second (and last for now) of my bloggetory about invitations to and attending dressy events.  I sparked a spirited conversation with yesterday’s post.

Goodness knows, I get more than ample invitations to such events.  Such is the nature of my civic work and spirited community activism.  But despite some people’s thoughts that these events are enjoyable, they aren’t to me.  That’s “to me” — not to others.  But the mere thought of having to dress up — and in the case of “black tie,” wearing a tux or formal wear (as my friend SJ’s comment from yesterday, where a Scot may wear formal highland regalia) — just doesn’t work for me.  At all. Period.

In the last several years, I have declined all such invitations.  And I don’t lie about it.  I just tell whoever is inviting me that I don’t like such events because I don’t like to dress up, and do not want to come. (I also have to admit that I hate shelling out money to rent formal wear, as I never would own any, though I love watching the rental proprietor’s face when I tell him that I will be wearing boots; no formal shoes for me!)

To me, it’s worse if there is dancing involved.  Some of these events have a band or DJ and and dance floor, inviting people to dance in whatever way works with the music being played.  Gawd I hate to dance.  I am such a friggin’ klutz that everyone — I mean everyone — who has tried to dance with me (or teach me to dance) has run for the hills (my partner included.)  Seriously, when everyone else goes “cha-cha-cha,” I go “bing-bang-boinnnng — fumble-crash-fall — oh, I’m sorry I stepped on your foot again.”

My huge family who seem to have weddings often (the “greats” are all getting married now) kinda know that when they extend an invitation to me for their wedding, that my partner and I will show up for the church service, see the family, smile, shake hands — then as soon as the service is over, we go home.  That’s my doing, though my ever-reluctant-to-socialize partner has no qualms about ditching the reception, either.  And I don’t attend weddings held out-of-town, where I can’t “escape.”  (One fairly recent exception, where I was Best Man for my twin brother at his formal wedding in Venice.  But even then, the minute I gave the toast at the reception, I left.  My brother and my new sister-in-law knew I was going to do that, and understood.  They didn’t like it, but they understood that I would be sooooo very uncomfortable, they let me go as soon as I could gracefully exit.)

Some people think that all gay guys like to dance and are good at it, as if the gay gene is also in control of the ability to dance.  Not true.  There are a number of gay guys who don’t like to dance, and there are a lot of straight guys who dance well.  The ability to dance and the interest in dancing has nothing to do with one’s sexual orientation.

Plus, I don’t know if all families are this way, but I see a lot of behaviors that I would rather not see after they become lubricated with alcohol which usually occurs at wedding receptions.  Tongues get loose, and people say the silliest, strangest things.  Not nasty, mind you.  Not about my being gay.  They’re all long past that and know not to say things like that.  But they boast and brag and just drive me crazy because I know “the real them” and know that a lot of what they’re saying isn’t quite the truth.

I seriously have wondered if my choice not to attend these events has held me back in some way.  Perhaps by choosing “not to play the part,” I possibly have excluded myself from being considered for a promotion or an appointment to some prestigious group, board, or panel.  I don’t know what I don’t get asked to do, but I do hear the a few others brag about the big gig they were invited to participate on because they attended such-and-such an event, or played golf with the big cheese.  (I’m not a golfer, either… oh my, what great lack of social ladder-climbing skills have I!)

But I digress… and perhaps am feeling that I am a bit unusual.  Heck, we all are unusual in our own way.  But my strong feeling of “ick” keeps me away from these things.  Black tie?  The only black tie you’ll see on me is a leather tie I wear sometimes with a leather shirt.  That’s it.  Just me.

Life is short:  learning to say “no” helps maintain sanity.

I went to see a surgeon the other day to arrange to have a hernia repair.  Yep, I have a small hernia which will require surgery to fix.  I got it from all the friggin’ work that I do around the house and on my rental properties.  I have to face it, I’m not getting any younger.  Oh well, it’s small, doesn’t hurt, and for the moment, it’s a good thing because it releases me from the ongoing, perpetual, long list of projects that never cease to end around our house.

While I was there, the doc remarked about my significant weight loss.  I was last weighed at the health plan office back in May.  On October 12, my weight had dropped by 30 pounds.  I knew I needed to lose weight, and the diet-and-exercise recommendation that we always hear is what did it.

When I took my “summer vacation,” (that is, when I was laid off my job this summer before being offered a new one), I vowed that I wasn’t going to pile on the pounds, snacking away whilst whiling away the hours on a computer.  I made a promise to myself to work at weight-loss with some of my “free” time.

That’s hard for me to do, because I’m not a gym rat.  I hate gyms.  Ever since grade school where the gym teacher and classmates teased me incessantly for being a klutzy runt, I hated working out.  But I knew, deep down, that’s what I needed to do.  My twin brother-the-jock gently reminded me and encouraged me on this matter.

I can’t stand to use weights or machines or whatnot related to workouts and weight loss.  Call me cheap, but I will NOT pay for a gym membership.  Fortunately, the benefits of being a life member of the alumni association of the university from which I graduated, I am able to use all of their recreation facilities for free.  So I go swimming once a week.  Unfortunately, that’s not enough, and I am not a runner, so running on the track was out.  Unfortunately, I can’t get there during the week (open swim time for alumni is only in the evenings… too late for me.)

So I began walking.  At first, I would walk around my neighborhood.  Then I began changing it up, and walking further down the road.  I walked to my Aunt’s home, three miles away.  I walked … and walked … and walked.  My partner bought me a pedometer so I could count my steps.  I “upped” my steps from an average of 5,000 per day to, now, an average of 20,000.  That’s ten miles, more or less.  I walk up and down stairs instead of using an elevator.  Each morning at home, I walk the full length up and down three flights of stairs in my home for about 20 to 30 times.  (No “stairclimber” for me!  I do it for real, and make good use of the steps by carrying stuff, like rearranging my boots from my upstairs closet to my basement storage room.)

Diet-wise, that’s always a challenge because of my severely restricted diet due to chronic conditions I must live with.  I can’t eat most vegetables, salads, beans, tofu, tuna fish, yogurt, or such.  Facing multiple “runs” to the bathroom when I eat such things, I decided to forgo eating lunch instead of eating “healthy” crap that would make me sick.  I now have a small breakfast composed of a plain (home-made) roll w/o butter or margarine, and orange juice.  I drink about six large glasses of water throughout the day — on hot days and when working strenuously, I double that.  Then I prepare a regular, but sensible dinner for my partner and me.  Dinner isn’t diet junk — it is real food, such as chicken, beef, or home-made, light pasta.  But I limited my portion sizes and left off the condiments, such as mayo (a weakness), since I can’t use mustard or ketchup, relish, or anything else.  Salt & pepper add to taste, and I even keep those in moderation.

Most folks, including me, need a caffeine shot in the morning.  Not being a coffee or tea drinker, I might have gone for a soda.  I was finding that diet sodas, even Coke Zero, gave me the trots–must be the artificial sweetener.  So I just went “cold turkey” and when I really “needed” caffeine, I drank caffeinated water that my partner found for me in the store.  I don’t like to use bottled water, but in this case, one-half of a bottle of caffeinated water in the morning would stave off the caffeine withdrawal headache.

All-in-all, this worked for me.  I dropped 30 “real” pounds.  I think I finally found a weight-loss plan that works for me, and I intend to keep it up, because it’s part of my regular routine now.  When I get a craving, I drink water.  It fills me up and I lose my hunger pangs. 

Life is short:  manage yourself in ways that work for you.

I sense this will attract my buddy “SJ” from the UK who is into bondage.  Sorry, bondophiles, the title to this post is misleading (deliberately).

I’m just busier than a beaver and don’t know where I’ll have the time to get everything done.  But, then again, that’s me.  Mr. “can’t-say-no.”

Last week, I replaced batteries in smoke alarms for over 50 senior pals.  I made ravioli from scratch for my partner and me, but also brought some to a friend who recently broke her foot.  I baked six loaves of bread — also for senior pals.  I made a couple videos and updated my website.  I wrote letters kvetching on behalf of some of my friends who were wronged.  And each day, I visited my lovely aunt at least once, often twice.  I took her to get a blood test one day, which is quite an undertaking considering how frail she is.  And at almost each visit at my aunt’s home, I would find a note that a caregiver left for me indicating yet something else that I had to get at the grocery store.

I did repairs at three properties that I own and rent as affordable housing to community heroes.  Fortunately, the repairs were minor and mostly preventive in nature, but nonetheless, they each required time, tools, skill, and (of course) work boots!

I attended a public hearing and several other meetings with community groups concerned about certain local matters.  I tried to make peace, or if not peace, at least let each side be heard.  I missed a meeting of officers for a group in which I participate, as my aunt’s needs had priority.

Then I packed up with my partner and went to visit his mother in “da ‘burgh” this past weekend and while I am writing this before I left, I am absolutely certain that I was quite busy and enjoying very noisy meals (giggle).

I am anxious to begin working at my new job … my start date is imminent yet not precise.  Meanwhile, the honey-do list grows twice as long for each item that I scratch off.

So, this is my form of bondage:  to my community, my family, my partner, my friends, my home, my investments, and my hobbies.  Not bad things… just BUSY!

Life is short:  keep out of trouble!