Today at Roland Garros

Jo-Wilfried Tsonga

Novak Djokovic

Jelena Jankovic

Karolina Sprem

Ivan Ljubicic

Juan Carlos Ferrero

Andy Murray

Fernando Gonzalez

Jelena Dokic

Alize Cornet

Julian Bennetteau

Arnaud Clement

Mardy Fish

Juan Carlos Ferrero

Fabrice Santoro

Christophe Rochus

Those are all the names I saw today at the French Open!  I was starstruck.  I got to see some of them so close!  I was so close that I could see the players' grips as they banged forehands and backhands.

The one thing I noticed--Andy Murray is gigantic.  I never realized he was so tall.

The best part of today.  Seeing The Fila Boys:  James Blake & Dmitry Tursunov & Rainer

 Schuettler.  Too bad two out of the three lost yesterday.  But at least they all have their looks to rely on.  Hmmm.  I don't know who I'd pick if i had the choice.

Pretty Flowers

This song makes me smile (and a little sad)

I'm Wearing My Birthday Suit Today

Happy Birthday to me.

Yes, I've been lame and haven't updated.  I've had some drama in my life with work being super-busy, buying some new suits, one of which I'm wearing today for my birthday (a couple were for a wedding, and another because I'm obsessed with everything that Daniel Craig wears) and some dating drama. But the biggest obstacle to blogging has been furniture drama!  Next week, it should (fingers-crossed) be all resolved, and then I can finally get comfortable in my new apartment and return to blogging!

Hope everyone is well (including the bloggers who I haven't caught up with lately)!

Stay Tuned!

Aww-right, I have figured out what I need to get back into the blogging game. My couch!

So I've been in my new apartment on the Upper East Side (Lincoln Center, I miss you!) for about a month now. At first, I was going to keep all my old furniture. But then I decided that I needed to cheer myself up getting all new stuff. Leave it to me. I'll save the economy!

In the meantime, work has been so busy that unpacking has been a long, drawn-out affair. And I also decided to explore the strange world of craigslist by selling my furniture, an episode of my life, which produced much drama over such rare and coveted items as a TV stand and a lamp with no shade.

Anyhow, the point is when I get settled in my apartment, I expect to be back at blogging. And when will that be? When the douchebags at Salvation Army finally pick up my couch! Would you believe that they actually STOOD ME UP last week?

It's late now, and tomorrow I'm off work to head down to Philadelphia for a friend's bachelor party. Stay tuned next week for TCho's World 2009!

Hello?

Anyone still stopping by?

Damn, I'm Broke

Just shelled out some major moolah for my new apartment.  It's ramen noodles for me tonight.

Holy Crap, I'm Tired

5 Vodka Martinis

+

2 shots of tequilla

+

1 weird-tasting lime flavored beer

+

1 joint

=

One TIRED-ASS TCho with a pounding headache!

TCho's Late Take On Important News

While surfing the internet (don't ask me what I was searching for), I came across this two year old story about a Dr. Breedlove who claims to be able to create gay rats or rats "showing much more feminine behavior." By the way, "Breedlove" has to be made up. It's almost too cute of a name. Like Bernard Made-off.

I can only imagine what the conversation between two of Dr. Breedlove's rats might be like:

Rat 1: "Where the hell were you?"

Rat 2: "The guy in the white coat took me to the other cage for some tests."

Rat 1: "Are you ok? You don't look so good."

Rat 2: "I feel a little weird."

Rat 1: "Here, have some water."

Rat 2: "Ewwww, that water? It's been sitting out for days. I want a Cosmo. Oh and what is up with those woodchips over there, bitch? They're all soggy and icky."

Rat 1: "What are you talking about? We always drink that water. And who cares about the woodchips?"

Rat 2: "You know, this place is a mess!"

Rat 1: "A mess? It hasn't changed in 2 years."

Rat 2: "So what do you want to do tonight?"

Rat 1: "I don't know. Run on the wheel. Sleep. The usual."

Rat 2: "Booooring. Let's do something fun."

Rat 1: "Like what?"

Rat 2: "Let's go dancing!"

Rat 1: "We're rats. We don't dance. We eat and we sleep."

Rat 2: "OMG, do we have any ice cream. I shouldn't eat it though. I'm getting so fat."

Rat 1: "Um, you're acting really...."

Rat 2: "Do you think they have any low-cal rat food? I bet it's delish."

Rat 1: "I think you need to go take a nap. They gave you something strong this time."

Rat 2: "Ok, a nap sounds fab. Will you take one with me?"

Rat 1: "This is ridiculous. I'm going on the wheel."

Rat 2: "I'll miss you."

Oh. I Didn't Notice You There

You ever have one of those weeks (or days) where all of a sudden you wake up and it's the end of the week and you're like, "Huh? That went by fast." Actually, I don't really mean that you woke up and you can't belive it all happened so quickly. Instead I mean like you can't actually remember the past few days?

That's how I feel this month. I can't believe today is Christmas and almost the end of December. The recent days and weeks have been a blur, and not because of weeks of debauchery and me waking up with a bottle of Jack Daniels in my arm and shooing a strange cat out of my bathroom. Work has been batshit crazy, and then I had the longest cold in the history of all colds.

Today, I woke up and revisted some of my favorite blogs and discovered some new ones, which made me think, "Man I hope I didn't blog anything stupid in my own blog." And then I was relieved when I realized I hadn't really blogged anything.

I guess sometimes it's a good thing that I haven't been the best at keeping up with stuff around here. While this is supposed to be a quasi-account of my life, the bottom line is if it's not amusing, no one really cares. And sometimes I just don't feel funny. Sometimes I feel anxious, or sad, or unusual, or like a carebear. And Carebears aren’t really witty, they’re just cheerful, which isn’t all that interesting.

(As an aside, I learned today from watching VH1's I Love Toys that Carebears apparently had some sort of weapon of mass destruction that was like this beam of light that shot out of their chests and injected enough cheeriness into their targets to make them feel like Santa Claus on Prozac having an orgy. Geez, imagine what a Carebear on crack would do with that kind of power.)

I've also been checking up on Facebook and reading up on "Status Updates" from everyone. And I've come to cop out and write some short status updates for myself instead of sitting down at my blog, which is really all I've had time for lately. After all, it's not news unless it's on Facebook.

Not that I haven't tried to write something here. I have a few entries with a sentence or two. But in the style of Facebook, here are some updates on how I've felt over the past couple of weeks.

A Couple Weeks Ago - I Cleaned Out At The Saks Sale

SYNOPSIS: I felt like I was at an outlet store with bargain shoppers

EMOTION: Triumphant Carebear.

Last Week - Why I Love My Staple Remover

SYNOPSIS: Because it's tortoise-shell, and not enough things are.

EMOTION: Sad for the poor tortoises Carebear.

Last Friday - I Had Doughnuts For Lunch Today

SYNOPSIS: They were delicious.

EMOTION: Gross Carebear

Yesterday - Boy, Is Work An Absolute Clusterfuck Today

SYNOPSIS: That's about it.

EMOTION: Anxious Carebear

See? Why waste my time with 2,000 superfluous words? More importantly, why waste my precious emotional resources? A man shares only so much over the course of his life. While women may be renewable wellsprings of emotion and feeling, men are like small ponds. And as women and blog readers sip from them like deer in a forest, they are depleted until finally one day they are empty, which is the day you buy your first recliner. (Did any of what I just wrote make any sense?)

Besides, sometimes I don’t know what my goal is with all this writing and sharing. Maybe I'm starving for attention. Then again, I seem to be fine with being my normal old self. But take Rastus who is the guy on the Cream of Wheat Box. Rastus is actually Frank “Irony” White, a chef who posed for the box way back in 1900 when Cream of Wheat was actually made solely by black men in hats named Rastus.

Then, in 1938, Frank White passed away, a virtual unknown, with a blank gravestone. The man is on the Cream of Wheat box and he can’t even get a friggin “RIP, Rastus. Keep on creamin’ that wheat up in the Big Kitchen”? Finally, almost 70 years later, some guy started a campaign to get him a proper gravestone with an etching of the Cream of Wheat box on it.

My point being, if the goddamned face of Cream of Wheat can fade off into obscurity, even when it’s right there on the shelf next to the Farina kid’s face (whose name, by the way, no one knows – maybe it’s just a warm breakfast cereal curse?) then what’s the point of blogging? I like to aim all my actions at being remembered after I die, because let’s face it I’m into the “big picture” stuff. So if I have limited resources with which to entertain and an open-ended timeline for failure, why do I keep on trying?

Because if there's anything I know about the high price of fame, it's that I do not want to be chased by a band of paparazzi, only to jump into a nearby river for cover and hold my breath for 14 minutes as I swim to freedom. Then of course, once I get to shore, there is another group of nasty photographers waiting for me who shout "There he is! Get him!" I don't need to be caught on tape right now, even if I have just lost 5lbs from being sick.

Merry Christmas Everyone!

Ugh

I am beginning to wonder if this cold that I have is the longest motherfucking cold in the history of all colds.

I know I haven't blogged in a while.  Will be back soon.

And This Guy Deserves His Very Own Post

Swoooooooooooonnnn.

And as a result of my lame attempt yesterday at the gym to develop an upper body like Daniel Craig's, my arms feel like they're going to fall off today.

Things That Go Bump In The Dark

Last night, I saw Quantum of Solace, with my dream boyfriend, Daniel Craig. As bad as the reviews were, this movie did not disappoint me at all. Then again, I think Daniel Craig could be catching flies, and I'd be first in line to watch him.

Anyhow, before the movie, I had spent the day being fairly active. I ran about 6 miles in the early afternoon, and then played about 90 min of tennis in the early evening, right before the movies. I cut it close and met my friends about 30 min before the movie started.

As we were watching, I felt a jolt of pain in my left hamstring. Fuck, it was a cramp and it was killing me. I sat up a little and then straightened out my leg and stretched it as much as I could. Then my friend turns and whispers to me, "Dude, are you playing footsie with your neighbor?"

Oops.

Bi-Partisan Voting

This past Monday, we had a company Potluck at work. Since starting my new jobs, I haven't been able to partake in one of my favorite hobbies. But I thought I would whip out the pots and pans for this event. I had decided to grill a few big steaks. Actually, when I was buying the steaks at my neighborhood Fairway, there was an announcement that all rotisserie chickens were "buy 1, get 1 free."

I resisted the temptation to take the rotisserie chicken shortcut and marched to the butcher, and immediately ordered "three London Broils." The butcher told me he had some more in "the back." Next thing I knew, he brought out a freaking cow and said my steaks would be "right up" in between all the hacking and chopping.

So my steak was a big success at the potluck, but get this. I tied for "Best Main Course" with Eggplant and Rice! What is up with that?!? Clearly, I forgot that by serving steak I'd be abandoning our company's important vegetarian contingent.

Wednesday Groove

I am like obsessed with this song:



Makes me think of all the cool things I could be doing.

One Of The Most Useless Places I've Ever Been To

This week I am in Bushkill, PA in the heart of the Poconos for a conference. I must say that this place has to be one of the most boring places on Earth. I thought there would be lots of rallies against our leader, or some folks from Dunder Mifflin, but there's pretty much nothing here. This place is probably one of those places that lists "foilage" as a tourist attraction. I'm sorry, but looking at leaves is NOT something I would take actual vacation days off work to do.

Let's just say that it's about as exciting here as a vacation in your own backyard with a box of Zinfandel and a Norah Jones CD.

I think I need to find these guys to show me the wild side of Bushkill.

Official: We're In A Recession

I went to Magnolia tonight to satisfy my sweet tooth. I kind of hate the fact that I'm addicted to the Magnolia that opened in my neighborhood for a variety of reasons. I hate the calories. And I hate joining the masses in the dessert that really stopped being cool when Carrie Bradshaw started eating them.

Tonight, I just had a craving and picked up a couple. But I swear, the cupcakes are smaller. They look like mini-muffins now.

Or maybe I'm just getting bigger.

My New Suitcase

I've been taking some trips down to Philadelphia, or land of the Tastycake, as I like to call it, for work lately. I went to college there, so I know the city well. The day before my last trip down there, I decided that I needed a new suitcase -- one of those small carry-on, rolling things that most people obnxiously bring on to planes, even though I have never seen one of these bags measure even remotely close to the airline guidelines for carry-ons. Since I take the Acela down to Philly, I wanted a small rolling bag and give my shoulders a break from buckling underneath heavy should straps.

By the way, I must declare unequivocally my love for the Acela. I wish I could take the Acela to work! My work is all of twenty-eight blocks from my apartment, but the Acela sure would make that trip nice.

Anyhow, I digress. A couple Saturdays ago, I embarked on my mission. I SCOURED every store in the city that I thought would have a bag to my liking. Everything was either too expensive, too ugly, too crappy or just plain too big. Of all the stores I visited though, I didn't go to an actual luggage store. For some reason, the thought never occurred to me to go to one of those stores.

The next day, Sunday, I decided to head to Ambassador Luggage near my work. The freaking place was closed. What place closes on Sunday in New York these days? I even see dry cleaners nowadays open on Sunday! Anyhow, since I was leaving in a few hours, I had to get a suitcase fast. I racked my brain and realized that the closest luggage store was Tumi over in Grand Central Station.

I sauntered in and immediately knew that this Tumi store was so small that there was no way I could pull off my typical routine of not being noticed and not noticing anyone else. The salesguy immediately latched on to me and started showing me every bag they freaking had. He even sent his helper guy downstairs to bring up some more bags (uh, zebra print? No thank you.) He was turning customers away, and telling them to wait while he helped me.

He was actually a very nice guy, and genuinely nice. You know, not like those crazy people who are so crazy that they actually appear sane. The kind who people refer to when they are questioned about a serial killer who used to be their neighbor, and they say, "He always seemed so nice, so normal."

He did have his moments though. At one point, he instructed, "Let's walk while we talk." And I'm thinking, "Walk where? This store is like the size of a bathroom." Then at another point, I asked him if he had a suitcase in blue, and he pulled out a grey one and said "Here's one," as if they were the same color. I imagine this is what interacting with a dog is sometimes like when you ask one to fetch something.

In the end, I picked a suitcase. Throughout the 30-40 minutes I was pondering my choice, I didn't even think about the price. I guess it's been a long time since I've bought a suitcase, because I just about had a heart attack when he informs me cheerfully of some price over $1,000! At that point, I was too embarrassed to not give him the sale. I mean he actually turned away other customers for me!

I think I'll start bringing it to work because I need to get my money's worth.

Welcome Back (Sort of)

Over the past few months, I've been fighting a losing battle to keep this blog alive. Sure I post here and there once in a while, but I really want to get back to writing the poorly constructed prose for which I am now oh-so-famous. Actually, when I announced my hiatus back in June, I got a few emails from some of the friends I've made over the couple of years that I've been a member of the blogosphere like, "Hope you're ok!" Or "what's wrong? Come back!" While this quasi-personal relationship I now share with my readers is great and profound, it's also a bit intimidating because before my readers were random people who I only assumed existed. Now they're real live people with real live email addresses that I plugged into Google, Friendster or Facebook (NOT Myspace because we just don't want to go there) to find out what their real live faces look like. So maybe it's only weird because I don't understand the boundaries between "taking a compliment" and "stalking someone." Ok, this is so not coming out the way I had planned.

Is there a lot to write? The question should be when is there isn't? I feel a bit rusty and feel excited like "excited for a sale at Target" rather than "excited for a sale at Barneys." I'm confident the blogging bug will come back though.

So what have I been up to? WORK! And sadly nothing else. I contemplated buying a dog, but realized that I like big dogs and fitting a dog like a Bernese Mountain Dog in my apartment would be like fitting a horse, and would probably knock me over.

And here we are at my comeback post. I'm trying to be ironic or sarcastic or witty or any of those words that I've been called. Actually I don't think I really know what any of those words mean. I just know that I make lame attempts at all those things, and get comments like "HAHA. I love you." That's the formula and we're sticking to it.

I suppose if someone comments, "Haha. I love you," we could get the sarcastic irony out of the way.

Damn, Nothing Good Ever Happens In Coach

I'm not going to go into specifics, but let's just say that I had planned to have a relaxing flight back home, having been stuck in a crowded plane on the way to Dallas and in a middle seat, no less. I never really minded the discomforts these days of flying our skies, despite the endless cutbacks, crowding and overall rudeness of passengers. I boarded my plane tonight at ginormous Dallas/Fort Worth Airport. I flew Continental, which I don't usually do because I hate flying into Newark. When I got to my aisle seat, a guy was already sitting there. He jumped and asked, "Would you mind switching seats with me?"

I looked to where he pointed and said, "No way. I don't want a middle seat." His wife interjects, and pleads, "Puhleeezee! I really need my husband to sit with me to help me with my daughter!" I was too nice and finally agreed. Forget the fact that their daughter had to have been at least 8 years old, and not like a two-month old baby.

We took off and were on our way back to New York (well, Newark, which ain't New York) and my new oh so helpful seat neighbors kept telling me, "I would have never switched." Yes, thank you neighbors for making me feel worse.

So I had some cabin rage stewing in me like a volcano about to explode. After I got off the plane, I passed by the family and the woman shouts out "Thank you!" I replied, "Yeah, ok."

You would think that would be it, and I would never see this crazy woman again. But she wouldn't let it go. She screams at me, "You know, when you do something nice, you're supposed to feel good about it!" Whoa. Back the fuck up. I turned around, and said,

"Ok, first you're telling me where to sit, and now you're telling me how I should feel?"

Crazy woman: "Why are you whining so much?"

Me: "Because people like you who think having kids gives you special privileges."

Crazy woman: "Stop whining. You need to get laid!"

Me: "FUCK YOU BITCH!"

At that point, a Continental Airlines person came by and asked, "Is there a problem here?" I replied "I'm not arguing with this woman anymore". Then I just walked away.

I have to stop flying in Coach.

Today is Sunday...

It's Sunday and almost 5PM.  I can feel the weekend slipping away, way too fast.

I hate this feeling.