Promises, Promises

Ok, so my last post was a bit lazy and I’ve hardly been much of a contributor to this site as of late (or ever) but, hey, I’m trying. Of course I’m trying at a lot of things these days and in many, many cases failing miserably. I’m always “trying” to learn, to grow, to organize my to do list, be more responsible, to do all sorts of shit . . . and every so often some cliché landmark arises and I deem some sort of “all new me” or a “new start” or some other sort of frickin’ bullshit that’s supposed to mark the calendar as some sort of new beginning. I’ve been particularly full of shit for the last year or so and as if moving 1500 miles away wasn’t enough I thought it best to accompany it with an entire litany of other “new me” sort of crap. Ya know what I’m talking about, the kind of shit you’re always promising yourself on New Year’s Eve: quit smoking, learn French, lose weight . . . I’ve done all those things but it is important to note that I’ve forgotten most of my French, gained back the weight I’ve lost and promised for like 5 years to quit smoking before I actually quit smoking. So, here I am again with another passing b-day and I declare an all new beginning…. Excuse me, I’ll be right back, I gotta go refill my drinkie drink. Oh, Mr., could you fetch me a (ice tinkling against an empty glass) … Well, he is good for some things.

OK, drink refilled so you can see how well this new me bullshit is going.
The day of my birthday was relatively low-key but not bad. I stayed up till about 5 am and swore I’d get up early regardless for the “new beginning.” 11:30 rolled around and the 30 minute victory of the earlier- than-usual rise was quickly dismissed by some sound conclusion that I was entitled to a “b-day week transition.” Funny, right? Typical is more like it. I lazily returned to bed and, another hour later, started the day with a bloody. Not even really needed as a hang-over cure but a bloody seems less AL-coholic then starting the day with a straight up martini. But I digress.

Thus far the only thing I’ve done differently was walk about 3 more miles than usual on Saturday (note: a walk through the grocery store or to the nearest bar was about the typical work-out routine) but that was only in between restaurants, drinks, and a show to a beloved fowl-mouth comedian. So I guess the only difference was that I walked instead of scooted on the Vespa to said destinations. With one exception; we scooted to Domenica (Besh’s new hot spot) late Saturday so we could feed our faces moments before the kitchen closed. By the way, WTF is up with a 10:30 close time for a new fancy pants restaurant in NOLA? Seriously, WTF!!!

So, face filled with pasta, pizza, and wine we paid the exorbitant tab and headed home to walk the .9 miles to the bar to meet friends for a b-day celebration. Now it’s 1:30 and I left (walking home alone - w/o a stumble I might add) before even ordering a drink – or my friends showing up – because I was done. A triumph, right? Nope, just actually too tired. Victory at last? Not even kind of.
So here it is Sunday night (now nearly Monday morning) and it’s what’s become the day of reflection wherein I think about making another new start. Mondays are the start of a new week, maybe a new beginning? Yeah, yeah, I say it every other fucking week. I got an important interview tomorrow. I may, or may not nail it. I may, or may not care. I may or may not change. But not unlike every other week, birthday, New Year’s Eve I’ll promise to try. Tomorrow. But for now, I got 9 more minutes to refill my drink and do something useless.

Cheers.