![](http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7460/707/320/before%20after%20bw1.jpg)
It was true. Before training with Josh, I was this scrawny guy with dorky glasses. Whenever I went to a gay bar, I would be the shy guy standing on the corner waiting for some compassionate geriatric to hit on me. I was the Gawker.
Occasionally, I’d get hit on by military guys who were on their home leave from Korea and wanted to get their fix of Kimchee on this side of the ocean. I wanted to scream “I’m not Korean, you quiff!” But the testosterone build-up was unbearable, so I succumbed. I became the Cio Cio San for the US Army 2nd infantry.
I wore sweater vests and button-down shirts so I looked less scrawny. My collection of pants were mostly pleated, a necessary tool to cover my non-existent tush. Even in the hottest day of the summer, I wore two undershirts in my desperate attempt to look a bit built.
![](http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7460/707/200/jeff%20dahmer.jpg)
After three years of personal training and $3000 worth of protein shakes, I became somewhat chiseled. I can feel the DL brothers at my gym mentally hump my legs whenever I flex my arms. After doing a lot of power squats, my ass can nicely fill a low rise Rock & Republic jeans. My transformation was completed by Dr. Yuri, a Russian trained dermatologist who believed in industrial-grade treatments.
Along with the physical transformation, my career took an upturn. After two grueling years in business school and long hours in investment banking, I landed a cushy job in the elusive world of LBO funds. I began to have a nice disposable income.
![](http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7460/707/320/bar2-large.jpg)
I got invited to parties with gay appropriate themes. Last year alone, there were at least three parties with colors as the theme (Lavender and Pink were the faves). I attended fund raising parties for gay causes, ranging from Stop Fugly Gay Abuse to Eradicate Gay Lisps.
![](http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7460/707/200/time%20cover1.jpg)
There I was, a plus one at a Hollywood power party. Everyone seemed to be more connected, more powerful, and more beautiful than me. The low was unbearable; I left after a queeny skankerella said that my watch, which was a college graduation gift from my parents, was tacky.
At the end, it was a humbling experience. I closed my power-broker practice. I resorted to keeping genuine friends despite of status and looks. Just like Buddha, I have found my homo inner peace…
![](http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7460/707/200/buddha.jpg)
8 comments:
i couldn't care less about the power brokers, myself. that's why i don't hang with people just because they're good-looking, powerful, or rich. even the fact that "gorgeous" guy who worked for the mayor was at your parties barely registered. you're the only power broker i hang with.
go_wade_in
wow, your blog is really turning into something very interesting and powerful. keep up the good work!
no milk please
Go_Wade_In, I always consider you in my "gorgeous" group of friends ;-)
Milk, thanks for the nice compliment. You inspired me to use this cheap form of cathartic therapy. Now I'm hooked!
oh, i also quit google ads. FYI.
no milk please
Why Milk?
Too bad it took you a decade, three years of a trainer and three grand worth of chalk shakes to sort this out.
But at least you sorted this out.
re:googleads. because there is barely any clicking happening and it makes the page load slower. my blog is just not the kind of blog people click on ads for.
happy holidays!
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