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Three Years Is a Charm

Four hours and three years ago, I sat in this very same chair, at this same desk, using this same computer, at this same crappy keyboard with the same sticky ‘Shift’ key and the same scary brown stain on the ‘Page Down’ button.

(In all this time, I’ve never touched that button. How did it get stained? What the hell’s on it? Chocolate? Dirt? Rabbit poop? I have no idea.

But I digress. It’s what I do. Sorry.)

The point is, exactly three years ago today, at nine thirty or so in the morning when I should have been at work already, I sat right here and started a weblog. It was called the Sitdown Standup Experience. For about twenty minutes. There were, shall we say, ‘technical difficulties‘.

By the time the first post was finished — nineteen sets of parentheses later — the site had become the ‘Where the Hell Was I?‘ that you know and generously tolerate today.

(And yes, I counted the parentheses. Three years later, I’m marginally better able to stay on topic, but I’m no less obsessive. One personality flaw at a time.)

“Whether you’re a casual reader, a regular, a budding stalker, or a wide-eyed and frightened first-timer, you have my heartfelt thanks.”

Actually, that site was a bit different. It was on BlogSpot, for one thing, using one of the original stock layout templates. It was a few months before the first site makeover, a while longer before wherethehellwasi.com was birthed, and only recently that the current look and feel settled in. And given my gross inadequacy in matters of style and fashion — there are homeless diapered monkeys with snazzier wardrobes, for instance — I suspect this will be the face of the blog for quite some time.

It’s now been 1095 days, assuming my shaky math skills haven’t failed me, since the site was launched. This post is, according to the software, the 991th post in the main area. Add in the 101 Things Posts About Me, the various Standup Journal posts, features like the Cliche-O-Matic, Big List of Lists, and 33 Faces of Me, and you’ve got… well, I don’t know how many, exactly. I’ve got my shoes off and my pants unzipped, and I still can’t count that high. But I’m pretty sure it’s better than a post-per-day average of fully original, occasionally entertaining content over those three years, and I’m not too shy to say I’m rather proud of that.

I’d also like to thank anyone who’s stopped by to read over the past thirty-six months of tomfoolery. Whether you’re a casual reader, a regular, a budding stalker, or a wide-eyed and frightened first-timer, you have my heartfelt thanks. I hope there’s something in these goofy pages that can brighten your day or lift you with a little giggle now and then.

Or ideally, make you upsnort Sanka out your nose and all over your monitor. I don’t get that so often around here, but those are the best.

(For me, anyway. For you, it’s probably a tad painful. And messy. You might wind up with mysterious greasy brown stains on your ‘Page Down’ key, if you’re not careful. Heeeeey….)

Anyway, many thanks to those of you who read. And comment, and link, and email — I have a lot of fun writing this drivel, but your feedback is still my favorite part of all.

Before I wrap up this self-serving anniversarial lovefest, I’d like to especially thank two other people, who’ve gone above and beyond the realm of ‘feedback’ and into a new stratosphere of… what? ‘Support’? ‘Encouragement’? ‘Ass-kissing’? I’ll let you be the judge, as I relay the tale of ‘A Man Called Chris‘:

Once, there was a man called Chris. Chris had a Problem. A tricky little Problem, indeed.

It seems Chris was a coffee drinker. A java man. A bean hound. A cuppa joe kinda guy. But he had a Problem of delivery.

You see, Chris had a coffee maker. A simple pot, perhaps, or a fancy grinder, or an espresso esqueezer extraordinaire — the details aren’t important, really. Suffice to say that Chris could produce coffee… but then he had his Problem.

Sadly — tragically — Chris had no way to get his piping hot, delicious coffee into his mouth. Nothing he tried would work. He drank straight from the pot — and ended up wearing half the coffee on his shirt. He scooped it with his hands — but hot coffee is a cruel mistress, and burned his tender fingers before he could get a drop to his lips. He thought of sucking the coffee through a straw — but who the hell drinks coffee with a straw? What’s next, upturned pinkies at a kegger? Chris knew a straw would never do, but still he had the Problem.

Until one day, to make a long story marginally shorter, Chris bought himself something called a ‘coffee mug’. Just the right size, insulated to keep in heat, and with a sturdy handle for safe carrying. No straws, no stains, and no ouchy fingers. Problem solved!

But here’s the thing — Chris didn’t buy just any coffee mug. He purchased his kicky caffeine cup from the Official (and Woefully Underdeveloped) Where the Hell Was I? CafePress Shop. The site’s name is on the mug, and a little slogan, too. It’s got the same color scheme. And Chris bought one, anyway! Wow!

Honestly, I never expected anyone to actually buy a mug. Or the other umpteen things that I planned — and, to date, have utterly and completely neglected — to offer in the store. It was just a plaything, really; a toy parked in a dim-lit corner of the site, and forgotten for weeks. Nobody buys mugs from the store, not as-is. Hell, it’s my store, and I haven’t even bought a mug! That should tell you where we stand here, e-commerce-wise.

But Chris bought a mug. Even crazier, he bought two mugs. And so, in deep gratitude and bewildered astonishment, I’ve made Chris — that’s Chris of Red Hog Diary fame — a charter member of a new, permanent section on the sidebar dedicated to ‘Really Cool People Who Are Clearly Encouraging Me Far Too Much‘.

Chris says the second mug is for another heroic pal, Lori of Hahn at Home. So Lori, welcome also to the RCPWACEMFTM Hall of Fame. And thanks to you both for the support — may your mugs be always filled to the rim with your favorite tasty roast, and never leave nasty stains on your coffee table. Let me know how they’re working out; maybe I’ll buy one myself some day. Then I can finally get rid of all these stupid straws.

Okay, that wraps up the lovefest. Thanks for indulging me on a blog birthday; back to the usual zany nonsense tomorrow. Happy Saturday, kids..