outnumbered

So, for the last week I've had two dogs roaming the house. Mine, of course, and the dog that I watch from time to time. His name is Jake, and he's the sweetest boy. In dog terms, my code word for sweet is, of course, stupid, but I love him and every time I get to watch him is fine by me. He's a very sweet boy, as it were.

Once upon a time (a few months ago), I entertained the idea of having two dogs. This is a bad idea.

Ultimately, I think it could work in the long term. In the short term, it's a nightmare. For starters, you are OUTNUMBERED. You think the dogs might play with each other and give you some free time, but this is wishful thinking at best. Stupidity at worst. Each wants attention in the worst way, chiefly from you, the caregiver. I figured out the easiest way to make my own dog jealous, and that was to get in a catcher's stance and talk to both of the dogs. Jack would cut Jake off at the pass at every attempt to get close to me and in time of desperate measures he would bite at his neck. That's MY daddy, bitch, stay away.

I have long since come to the conclusion that a second dog will be in my future just as soon as a second person lives in this house to pay the bills and share the responsibility.

I won't be having a second dog for quite some time.

my new fave

Now that Lost is gone something must step up and claim the throne as the "best ever tv show at the moment no doubt in my mind" and while House and Cuddy finally getting in wub might be pretty awesome... this wins hands down:

Such a good show and least season was the best. Quinn v. Dexter this year? Ok.

blog blog blog

Might be slow on the posts over the next few days. Not because I'm lazy or neglectful; as I've been for months.

I am actually writing a short story at the moment, one I've been turning over in my head in some fashion for awhile.

It may/may not suck, but I think as a first attempt it will be alright.

I'm about 800 words in to a projected 4000.

At which point I will actually wait a few days and then edit it, which is something that most of these blog posts could really use but do not get.

optimism

I'm an eternal optimist in that I believe the top falls down.

(Either you will get that or you won't. )

in medias res

If you were given the option of dying painlessly in peace at 45, but with a lover at your side... after a long and happy life. Is this something that would interest you? Would this interest you at all?

In Stride

My endocrinologist cracks me up in ways that an 80 year old Dr. with a heavy Greek accent only could. He asks me the same questions every six months. Some of them are relevant to my condition, such as asking if the temperature in the room is ok, do I ever feel tired, etc. Some of them clearly aren't. I get the feeling that he asks me how my bowel movements are just because he wants to know the answer. My favorite thing about him is that he obviously got his M.D. sometime in the early 60s, if not sooner, from the University of Athens, or some similar Greek University.

In all my prior visits I have gotten minor lectures on my weight, including when I was only about 20 pounds heavier then he wanted me to be.

Today - I was much heavier. MUCH. I was dreading the lecture all day. I got some hilarious advice - as in, I clearly need to be eating barley for breakfast. Also, whole oats that take longer to cook because they don't have sugar. As I have said, I love this man.

But the best part of the whole appointment was when he looked at my chart. Flipped back a page. Looked again... flipped back. Then he looked me square in the eyes and he said...'You've gained a lot of weight." I said, "Oh, I know, I know..." and I was ready with some of my best excuses (I'm a pro) when he just quickly said... "Well, I think you need to lose (pause) 80 pounds. Not right away, but let's say in the next two years." And then he changed the subject.

Eighty pounds (EIGHT - ZERO) is a very large number in terms of weight loss and/or weight gain. He said it as if he was recommending that I try to walk 15 minutes a day, 3 times a week. Hey, no big shit. Lose some weight, fattie. I was dying of laughter inside.

90% of the population (and 100% of all females) would have been so offended that they never would see this particular Dr. again. All I could think as I was leaving was just how correct he was. That sounds like a lot of weight but it would put me where I want to be.

This interaction, as with anything in life, only serves to reinforce that you need to take things in stride. You need to know who you are and what you need to be so that things like this don't offend you today. Or ever for that matter. I knew he was right.

In my version of a perfect world, I would be sharply dressed, good looking, and well traveled. Being fat directly contributes to me not meeting two of my main goals. Why do I not do something about this? Why do I not work every single day to make sure I end up where I want to be.

I'm about to.

things fall apart

Oh, faithful reader, when we last (mostly) parted 10 months ago, things were going quite swimmingly for our young protagonist (me!). I was sticking to my diet and exercise plan, I was saving money, and things were going mostly as well as I could hope for.

That was 10 months ago.

Stephen King recently personally told me that if I want to be a writer then I need to write and read as often as I can. (Don’t laugh, he can tell you too.) I used to love writing, then it became a chore. Mostly because I ran out of things to write about. But people seemed to like it and nearly a year later people still remark about it... so here we are.

I mean to write some fiction, but it’s scary and has a high possibility for failure... so who knows if will get around to it. I certainly mean to. I also certainly mean to get around to a whole bunch of other things. My unyielding love of the ellipse might drive a copy editor to a particularly gruesome murder/suicide. These things may be best left untouched.

When we last left off, things were uncertain for me at my place of employment. I believe I had just interviewed for a position in Washington DC. I liked that place, but they ended up stringing me along. I have a pretty realistic idea of what happened, and it’s times like these when I realize that I am able to view myself and the world around me with an objective lens. I am perfectly willing to accept that I’m not perfect - no one is (except Jack). The way I envision things going down is that they liked me, realized I didn’t have enough experience and wanted to hire me at a level lower then what I interviewed for. This would lead to my recruiter telling me that they liked me. Then they realized that this schmuck, aged 27 (at the time) somehow owns a house and we’re going to have to move him here. At which point, they probably all looked around and said something to the effect of “Oh that guy? Yeah, fuck that guy.” So, I didn’t get the job. Things were tense for awhile, but I finally ended up getting another position at Bristol here in Syracuse, ending my long national nightmare.

So, I got a new job. Got a raise. My bonus went up to 8% of my yearly salary, from the whopping zero that it was at. I opened a 401k and took additional steps to becoming a real boy. The main steps that I took were major remodeling of the house. That was a lot of time and effort, and well, mostly money. But I did what I wanted and it’s almost all done - so I’m happy. But I’m back to attempting to save large amount of money. I have more debt then I did at this time last year, potentially an understatement, but it’s justified and I’m satisfied and that area is all good.

So why is this titled “things fall apart”? Have I spent the last month just solidly listening to this:

No, but I liked that album when I was in high school and the track with Erykah Badu is really good (It’s called “You Got Me”). In fact, ever since then that’s been one of my favorite little sayings, used in approximately a thousand away messages and facebook status updates since. And it’s fitting.

Things have definitely fallen apart. Because, at my core, I still care about the same two things I cared about last year. Being financially sound and being in good shape (to the constant chagrin of my mother, who wants me to settle down and get married very, very much). I am in awful shape. The worst, in fact. I’ve gone from being in the best I’ve bee in since high school to being in amongst the worst. I have no one to blame for this but myself. I can spend 3000 words putting down all my feelings on the matter and over the next few weeks - I just might. It’s going to be a while before I’m in shape again. I’ve only been single a week (another topic for another day, but I’ll probably never write about it).

Every day I wake up and I look in the mirror and wonder just about the only thing a man can wonder in the situation, what the fuck happened? Just today I noticed more spots filling in around my eyes, giving credence to the Dr’s theory that it is lipid deposits in my eyes. Unlike my dog, who has him directly in his eyeballs (genetic to the breed), I just have them on the outside, which doesn’t hurt my eye in any way. This is usually a sign of high cholesterol, which I don’t have. Either way, the addition of more of these isn’t what I would consider a good sign.

Ultimately, I wish that I could build a time machine and travel back in time 9-10 months and punch my skinny self directly in the face. But that’s not going to happen.

Instead, it will be the same thing it always is. A slow climb back to respectability.

I’m going to attempt to avoid the “x happened today and x is the result of that” format that I have been guilty of at times. This may fall into that a bit, but it’s also my first post in 10 months... so kindly give me a break.

Practice, practice, practice. And I believe that, although he didn’t state it, Mr. King would agree that practicing not eating the double cheeseburger is a good thing to aspire to, as well.