Two Years of TCho

So, apparently, I've been writing this thing for two years now. After a year (and recently too), I actually thought about quitting because my original purpose for blogging (bored at home from my broken arm) had gone by the wayside.

But I began to write with renewed vigor and have gained lots more readers. I guess my thoughts of quitting were like a seasonal malaise. You know -- you're sick of your job, nothing much is happening in your love life, you're sick of being tired all the time and there's only so many times you can write about your shopping exploits.

Then I started some series about San Francisco and myself which I still need to finish, got all crazy reminiscent about 2006, then American Idol and Project Runway crazy, then Cheese Store guy and British guy crazy, then new job crazy and then Arizona crazy, and as crazy as it sounds, I'm enjoying it more than ever.

I feel like I should do something though at the two year mark. I do have some ideas on a Word document for possible blog posts. Well, the word "ideas" is a bit strong. They're more like sentences that, at one time, I believed could be considered ideas. I can be quite retarded.

So from my "ideas" list...

• My apartment: where Tupperware is saved from death.

• Tense, like those moments right when you know you've just clogged the toilet. Tense indeed.
  

• My pet peeve: naturally ugly people. I was in a pissy mood that day.

• Overrated: listening to music in the shower. Also overrated: my "ideas."

• It's like that feeling you get when you walk into a men's room, and there's someone in the stall. You know he's cursing you, and you can play this off in one of two ways: 1) you can hurry through, knowing this guy is in a cold sweat clenching back a shit; or 2) you can say "I rush for no one," and take your time. I usually write like I would talk in a conversation. But I'm not sure if I could picture myself using this metaphor, like "You know, it's like that feeling you get when you walk into a men's room...."

• I really don't like this coworker of mine who keeps ketchup packets in his desk. But today I got French Fries for lunch and forgot to ask for ketchup. I was planning an entire post about annoying people at work, but I realized that was like saying cancer is annoying.

• I woke up realizing that I left the keys the night before in my apartment lock. When I realized this, I immediately wanted to change the locks, because I was sure a Chinese delivery man killer had gotten past my doorman, removed my keys, gone to an all-night hardware store, made copies, brought my keys BACK (to avoid suspicion), and was planning on coming back later to take all my nice clothes. When I thought of this, I at first thought it was cute, and then troublesome, and ultimately meaningless.

• I have much more trouble with button fly pants than a 29 year old guy should. Comment away!

• I'm scared to think of what might happen to me with a few good nights sleep. It could go either way: either I could become astoundingly productive, and this blog could take on the quality of The New Yorker (if the New Yorker were funny, and wrote about frozen yogurt and mold and if I actually had "sources" and "informed opinions"); or, I no longer grapple with bouts of mania and self-aggrandizement, and I drop my blog altogether for more noble pursuits, like running a charity...or making a donation to a charity...or getting more sleep. I still haven't had a decent night of sleep in a while, and so it's safe to assume the writing quality here won't change anytime soon. Unless I stop drinking. So like I said, no time soon.
  

And if those aren't reasons enough to blogroll me, I don't know what are.