I'd be better at this if I just had more champagne...

On the first day of 2012, I posted on my regular Facebook profile:
          

My main New Year’s Resolution for 2012 is keeping track of how quickly it will take to break all of my New Year’s Resolutions

It’s been difficult tallying. 

Now, let’s make it clear.  I think the idea of New Year’s Resolutions is a bit dumb.  I understand that some people see the first day of the year as a time for new beginnings.  I view New Year’s Day as just another day (realist, not grump).  I am a bit annoyed by all of the people who suddenly flood my gym during the month of January.  I wonder how much resolve that they will have (grumpy and judgmental, admittedly).  I notice that the church parking lots are at high occupancy in January (smug and sacrilegious).

But this year, I sincerely thought about some things that I would like to change in my life:

·        Stop smoking. After puffing on cigarettes since the age of fourteen or so, I’m certain that I have permanently damaged my lungs, clogged my arteries, and jacked up my senses of smell and taste.  It’s four days into the New Year, and I can report that I am still smoking.

·        Gripe about work and my management staff less. What’s the point?  Work is work.  I have to work to pay bills.  I enjoy our house and have to pay the mortgage. I like to travel.  I need to feed my menagerie, etc.  I can report that yesterday was my first day in the office for the year, and I was only mildly successful at keeping my grumbling to a minimum (not regarding my projects, but management was going the extra mile to break this resolution for me).

·        Allocate my home time more reasonably. As I reported in early December, a new video game was released.  As I reported, the game would probably swallow my life.  I can now report that it did.  Completely.  As you might note, my last post was that December one.  I spend most waking hours either playing the game or thinking of strategies for playing the game.  I even spend my “should-be” sleeping hours in that other fabricated world.  Last night all it took was a couple of snores from The Man and then Luke whimpering loudly in a dream (we must have played fetch too long yesterday), and I was jolted awake.  12:33 AM.  And what do I do?  Head to the living room and jump on the couch.  After playing the game for a while in the dark, I turned on the light to check the time…3:35 AM.  Perfect.  Up at my regular time of 6:00 AM.  I almost face-planted in the shower this morning.

·        Keep a better track of finances. The Man and I both have our separate bank accounts and one house account.  I maintain my own and the house account.  I can report that there is a stack of receipts on my desk.  We recently switched telephone carriers, but we are still paying both companies.  Duh.  We have a movie service (you know, the one that sends you DVDs by mail and allows you to stream movies through the Net), we NEVER use that.  There are other countless ways to shave off fat in our budget.

I think that’s about it for my resolutions.  Off to a stellar start in 2012.  I guess I can reload. 

2013 is practically around the corner.

Memorial Day Madness

This past weekend was a big waste.  Plus it was a holiday weekend.  A big wasted holiday weekend.  For many, Memorial Day is celebrated by the year’s first trip to the beach.  The Man and I didn’t leave Houston.

OK, the weekend wasn’t a complete wash.  The Man and I did catch a couple of movies (and we rarely go to the cinema).  We went to see “Bridesmaids” on Saturday.   He cracked me up by saying that he and I would be the only guys in the theater who were not attending with a girlfriend/wife.  He wasn’t entirely right, though; another couple of guys entered the theater (without women), and he and I elbowed one another and giggled.  Yes, we are so mature.  The lady sitting next to me in the theater checked her voice mail in the middle of the movie.  I wanted to grab the phone from her and chunk it across the room.  I was a bit irritable. 

We also saw “Thor” on Sunday.  I’d seen the movie with my son during my last trip to Louisiana.  But it was a fun movie.  I like any of the Marvel Comics movies and can watch them over and over.  In the middle of the movie, a man in the front of the theater took a call and talked in his normal (loud) voice.  I wanted to walk up to him, grab his phone, and chunk it across the room.  I was a bit irritable. 

After leaving the cinema on Sunday, I agreed to go shopping with The Man.  Let’s make it clear:  he usually does all the shopping for the house.  As a rule, I reserve the word “hate” for things that absolutely sicken me.  I hate shopping.  I stumbled around the store with him, grumbling and being generally bratty.  Shopping makes me irritable. 

He keeps his shopping list in his cell phone.  At one point, he said “I need a little help here.  Can you hold my phone and name off what we need?”

I just came back with: “I can push the shopping cart instead.  I’ve been doing that since I was around eight…”

He just rolled his eyes.

I then moved quickly around the aisles, chatting crazily and waving my hands dramatically.  Suddenly he said, “Why don’t you go get some beer, and I’ll meet you in that aisle?”

I laughed and asked, “Getting enough of me?”

He simply smiled. 

By the time we arrived at the check-out, The Man looked rather tired.  Poor guy.

Monday, I did yard work and stayed out of his way … well, mostly.  Later that evening (a bit too late to sensibly go), I decided to head out to the gym.  But not before, I ranted fifteen minutes on a completely meaningless subject.  He finally said, “You are doing a little projecting here.  Why don’t you go work-out?”

I did.

At the gym, I sent him a text.  “It must be challenging to have a crazy partner…”

He sent back.  “Sometimes challenging, always rewarding”

“Exhaustingly entertaining.  Well, ‘entertaining’ is not the right word.  Unavoidable?”

He texted, “Are you working out?”

“On the treadmill.  It’s difficult texting while walking on a 15 degree incline.”

“I’ll bet.”

When I got home, he was at his desk.  “Wow,” I said. “You are still up, but it sure looks as if you shouldn’t be…”

He laughed.  “I’m headed to bed.  I’m tired.”

I showered off the gym sweat, and then jumped on top of the covers of the bed.  He turned over and smiled.  “Aren’t you going to sleep?”

“I’m all pumped up from the gym … plus I’m a bit manic.”

He laughed.  “Really…?”

[At least, I am not running around the Texas Medical Center:  no shirt, no shoes, no socks, no sense … just a pair of white jeans and 180 pounds of psychosis.  That story will follow one day...]

“I’m going to write for a while.”

He smiled again.  “See you in the morning.”

I waved at him, as I jumped off the bed and reflected his smile.

It’s not easy living with someone who has bipolar disorder.  It’s not easy living with bipolar disorder.  Life is not always a trip to the beach.  But life is also not a big waste.

Impatiently Training

In January, I resolved to go to the gym five days a week.  No, it wasn’t a New Year’s resolution.  I’d like to think I’m too unconventional for that sort of thing, thank you (besides, I didn't begin on January 1st).  At the start, I weighed 197 pounds.  As the days went by, I was excited to see the pounds fly off.  I reduced my weight almost daily.  Then my body caught on to the game.  I hit a plateau at 192 pounds.  Frustrated, I changed my workout to see if I could force the weight loss to begin again.  And it worked.  My weight dropped to 187 last week.  And then I weighed this morning.  192.  Really?!  C’mon!!

I’m trying to convince myself that muscle weighs more than fat.  I’m trying to concentrate on the benefits of all the exercise that I’m getting.  But, I want results.  Of course, maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that entire bag of popcorn this past Saturday.  I could have done without those three spoonfuls of crunchy peanut butter on Sunday.  The pizza Saturday night didn’t help.  The non-light Sunday evening beer didn’t either.  I’m not a monk, body.  Cut me some slack!

When on the treadmill at the gym, I watch the activity on the floor.  I am a people-watching addict.  One of the personal trainers at the gym also works out there.  I stare with amazement when he is on the treadmill.  As I plod along at my 2.5 mile per hour pace, he is sprinting at 7.5 miles per hour and punching wildly at the air in front of him.  He tires me just watching him.

There are some gym pluses:  I see other people giving their all and making slow simple progress like I am, the attractive young women who work the front desk all know me by name since I’ve been going so frequently, I see the buffed and built men there who give me additional motivation to reach my goal.

Swimsuit season is coming and I still have the body shape of the Grinch.  But one thought is running through my head:  at least I have four months until my trip to Cozumel. 

Stuck in the Gridlock

I used to road rage ... a LOT.  I moved to Houston from a small Louisiana town, population 5,000.  The gridlock of Houston was overwhelming for me.  When I first arrived in the city, I worked in one of the busiest districts and had to commute a simple four or five miles home.  I say simple.  Most days it took me 45 minutes to an hour to get home.  In Louisiana, I was used to a 10-minute commute with the same distance between home and work.
So I'd grind my teeth, get red in the face, and generally raise my blood pressure all the way home in Houston.
Then I got a new job where I was able to take the bus.  It took a bit longer than the drive, but I saved on parking fees plus I got to read and listen to my MP3 player to and from work.
My next move was to Los Angeles, and some may think "Oh, My God!"  But I did not have that experience.  I found the drivers there to be more aware and more courteous that those in Houston.  Certainly there were certain freeways to avoid:  the 405, the 110 South (the Harbor Freeway).  But my commute was beautiful.  I lived in West Hollywood and worked in Pasadena.  I would take the 101 South to the 110 North, drive through a big tunnel in a hill and BAM...there were the San Miguel Mountains shining in the distance.  I started thinking that Angelenos were more chilled out on the road just because so many of the surroundings were pleasing.
I did return to Houston (my life called me back from La-La Land) and what did I observe comparing Houston to Los Angeles?  More aggressive drivers.  More vehicles with body damage.  More accidents.  I laughed when one of my co-workers told me over morning coffee that she had seen a bumper sticker on the way in to work that said "Howdy, DAMMIT!"  And that about sums it up.  Cowboy drivers in our big beautiful Bayou City.

I finally took a different point of view and it's been recent that I came to this revelation.  There is nothing that I can do about traffic.  I just have to go with the flow.  And maybe that's just what the people in Los Angeles have been doing for years.  They've had more practice being a big city than Houston.
I just need to remember what I would always tell my son while navigating traffic: "The only vehicle that I can drive right now is this one."
Above all, whether it's to pick up your kid from soccer practice, meet your friends for happy hour, or just  head home to your loved ones; we are all just trying to get to where we really want or need to be.