You Think My Blog Is Sexy?

(AKA  Never Look Too Closely at the Info Blogger Provides in the Stats)

WARNING:  DO NOT READ THIS AT WORK, OR WITH SMALL, IMPRESSIONABLE CHILDREN LOOKING OVER YOUR SHOULDER,  OR IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY BAD LANGUAGE, OR DISCUSSIONS OF SEX AND THE INTERNET.  YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.  IF THAT BOTHERS YOU, I ADVISE YOU STOP READING NOW AND GO ELSEWHERE.

When you have a blog on Blogger, like this one, you can get all kinds of cool stats -- things that I would not have the slightest idea how to compile on my own.  

Normally I just look at how many views each post gets.  I still get very excited  that people are actually reading this thing.  I’ve only ever gotten two comments left on my blog, one of which is complete spammy garbage, but I leave it up as it is one of my two precious comments.  The little things amuse and excite me.

When looking at the stats recently, I decided to click on the “Traffic Sources” for my blog.  Never, ever do this unless you are prepared to be amazed and/or horrified by the results!  It will show you the Top Referring URLs, Top Referring Sites, and the Top Search Keywords that brought people to your blog.  It also tells you how many times each of them were used.  Pretty cool.

Facebook and it’s mobile version being #1 for Referring URL and site was no surprise.  I post a link to the blog on Facebook when  I write something new.  I want people to be able to click on it and read my ramblings.  So hurrah for that seeming to work!

Then it got strange.

One of the Top Referring Sites I had never heard of before.  I’m not going to list it here -- you do NOT need the surprise I got when I clicked on the link.  I, naively, judged it on it’s URL and thought it was going to be a website like www.meetup.com -- a legit page that people use for book clubs, writing workshops, coffee groups, etc.  The URL had a similar name.  I thought maybe it was for blogging, that’s why so many people had been referred from the site.  Makes sense, right?

Wrong!

I clicked on the link and was greeted by a big picture of a naked woman with “FREE SEX” written above her head.  OMGWTF!?!

I closed that shit down immediately, no lie.

Then I kind of freaked out and texted someone who actually reads my blog and is internet-savvy to tell him of my discovery.  Because OMG Why?  How? What?

I went to take another look at the stats, thinking maybe some kind of pop-up had hijacked my browser. That is when I noticed the top entry for search terms that had brought people to my blog.

“My husband in bathroom fuck me q…”

Fuck me what? Quickly?  Quietly?  Are you in the bathroom with your husband?  Is your husband in the bathroom and you are hiding somewhere else with another man (or woman)?

I have no idea.  That’s where the keyword search trails off.  4 times that keyword search has brought people to my blog! 4! More people have found my blog searching that particular phrase than have by actually typing in the web address.  I kid you not -- I’ve seen the numbers.

I really can’t understand how or why.  That particular phrase has never been used anywhere on my blog (well, until just now).  I may drop the f-bomb on occasion.  I have written about my bathroom twice: once with a middle-of-the-night toilet repair, and once when I thought my mouthwash might be eating my sink and creating a sinkhole.  I also have never written about the husband that I do not have.  I’m still confused as to how my blog got associated with that phrase.  I’m chalking it up to the marvels of the internet.

I would like to apologize to what I can only imagine are a lot of very disappointed people.  

I’m so sorry.

You got pointed here thinking you were going to find some free sex or erotic stories or the like.  You got my blog instead.  I write about creepy deer, a certain religious group’s unending campaign to try to convert me, people dumpster diving like it is a new sport, and random weirdness that only seems to happen to me (like being accused of stealing my own identity while trying to buy cough syrup).

My apologies.  From the number of hits there are many people who are disappointed out there….

Or else you found my blog by accident the first time, you actually like it, and keep coming back?  I like to think my blog is smart and amusing -- those are sexy qualities in a person.  Maybe, a la Justin Timberlake, my blog is bringing sexy back?

Probably not.

**It has been pointed out to me that this particular post might actually end up getting me more traffic from the websites mentioned above.  I guess we shall see what the stats have to say!

In Which I Apparently Still Need to Be Saved

Let me start by wishing you all a belated Happy Halloween, friends!  Hope you had a good time!

As you may recall, I seem to have gotten myself on the "Must Visit List" of a particular religious group.  If you need a little refresher, you can read about my prior encounter here.  

Halloween is my absolute favorite holiday, hands down.  I decorate inside out and outside.  I buy the good candy -- no raisins or healthy treats here!

Now, my special little street is kind of tucked away, and no one really knows we are here.  Usually my trick-or-treaters are limited to my friends bringing their kids over.   I think a picture will best show you the scenario I am describing.

See the house on the left?  That's my house.  Like a Halloween beacon shining in the night.  On the right? That's the rest of my freaking street.  Not a light on in a single house!  Only the streetlight and the lights from the area down the hill.  I live in Party-Pooper Central.  I still got 3 intrepid kids though -- kids I did not know!  Very exciting for me!

What's a gal to do when she loves Halloween but never really gets any trick-or-treaters?  Throw a party, of course!

So last night I threw a little Halloween soiree.  I had all of my decorations out and lit up.  Good friends and fun times!  Everyone had a good time!  (Well, I'm assuming.  I haven't heard otherwise.)

Turned off the lights and went to bed around 2am, after a little bit of clean-up.  Nothing crazy.  We weren't obnoxiously loud, no one called the cops on us.    The important thing here is the time frame, folks.

I get up about 9am, turn on the coffee, and go outside to check that all of my pumpkins are still there.  (There's a story for that, but I'll save that for another time.)  They are still there, in all of there pumpkin glory...and I find a little something else tucked in my front door:

Join us!  Join us!!!!!!!

Are you kidding me?  Are you you freaking kidding me?!

In the seven, seven, hours since I went to bed the Jehovah's have been back again trying to save me! Apparently my status as the Spawn of Satan still holds with them, and they must now think I am trying to bring my friends over to The Dark Side as well.  

I've been told they are out in full force today, as a friend saw a group moving through her neighborhood early this morning.  

I'm not convinced this was a normal proselytizing mission though.  For starters, they didn't even ring the doorbell.  Maybe it was the same two guys I had words with last time and they decided not to chat this go-round.  I suppose they could have been scared of my decorations and didn't dare to see who lived inside. Due to the stealthiness of it all, I think it might have been my neighbor.  She might have pulled a covert op after last night's party.

Can't a gal just have a party without it being a sign that she is damned and dragging her friends along for the ride?

Let me leave you with this little piece of internet awesome:

In Which Buying Cough Syrup Made My Day

I have a little cough.  Nothing terrible, just annoying, and I don't want it to get worse.  It's almost Halloween which is my favorite holiday, I'm on vacation, and I refuse to get sick!  Not happening.

So I popped out to a quick-mart place to get some cough syrup and ginger ale.   I'm not going to name the place or the guy who helped me as he was just doing his job.  I don't want to get anyone in trouble.

Should be a simple and easy transaction, right?  Nope.

He asks for proof of ID to buy the cough syrup.  WTF.  Seriously?  He said it was a new law.  When did this start? Apparently it has been around for a while, and I just don't buy cough syrup often enough to have known about it.

I give the guy my license.  Seems strange to me, but I want my cough syrup and I'm not going to hassle a guy for doing his job.

He looks at my license, looks at me, looks at my license again.  And then...

Guy:  No, no, no!  I do not want this ID.  I want your ID.  You are the one buying the medicine.

Me: I know.  That is my ID.  I just drove here, that's my car, and that's my driver's license.

Guy: No.  This ID is wrong.  This must be your older sister or your Mom.  I need ID for you.  You have to be at least 18 for medicine.

I laugh, thinking he's just being a funny guy and making jokes since it seems slow.  He's an older guy, maybe he's just bored and feeling a little silly today.  Maybe he just flirts with all the ladies that come in.

Guy:  This isn't funny.  I need your ID.

Me: *In my head I was like, "Say what?  OMG he is being serious!"*  Um, that is my ID.  I don't know what else I can show you to prove it.  Credit card?

Guy: No.  No credit card.  I need proof this is you.  You don't look old enough to buy beer, certainly this is not your ID.

Me: Well, then can I just get the ginger ale and have my license back please?

Guy: I don't know.  You might use the fake ID somewhere else.

Me: It. Is. Not. A. Fake. ID.  Give me back my license!

Guy:  Prove it is yours, and I will give you the license and your medicine.  If not, I will call the cops.

WTF!!!!

People, it is a good thing that I rarely clean out my purse, and I have not gone through my wallet in, as it turns out, forever.

I start whipping things out on the counter to try to prove my ID.

Pay stub.  He says it might not be mine.
Credit card. Nope.
Checkbook.  Might not be mine.

What the heck dude, do you think I mugged someone to come buy cough syrup?

Old ID card from Brockport that I still, somehow, had in my wallet.  This gives him pause.

Library staff ID.

Guy: Oh, you work at the library!  This is a good place!  Here, here, take your things!  I will give you all of your things and the medicine!  *smiling*

Me:  Thanks?  *And I paid him, before he changed his mind*

Guy: You're welcome, you're welcome!  (He's acting like we are best buddies at this point.)

Me:  We're cool?  It's okay if I leave?

Guy:  Oh yes, yes.  But you should know, that is a very bad picture of you on the ID.  Makes you look old.  You look like a kid in person.

Me:  Thank you!  Honestly, that is the nicest thing I have heard all day.  You have a very nice day, Sir!  (And I meant it.)

Guy:  You too, my friend!

In short:
--got harassed
--almost had to talk to the cops about stealing my own identity?
--the library is a magical place
--got my cough syrup and ginger ale
--apparently made a new best friend

And also decided there is no way in the world I am ever going there to buy alcohol.  If it took that much to convince him I am old enough for cough syrup I would probably have to leave a blood sample for anything else.

The Chronology of a Monday

I don't know about you, but lately my Mondays seem to really stink.  Anything and everything that could go wrong always seems to happen on a Monday.  Maybe it's just me.  Maybe you have awesome Mondays and think they are the best day of the week.

Today was not a good day.  Everyone thinks that when you work in a library it must be such a nice, quiet place where nothing ever happens and you sit and read books all day long.  That is certainly not the reality of the library I work in, or any other public library I have visited.  

So why don't we all discuss how crap-tastic our Monday was?  I'll go first.  It can be like group therapy or something.  (I have no idea if it will be like group therapy, having never been to group therapy, but people venting their frustrations should be a good thing, right?)  And hey -- if you managed to have a fantastic Monday, feel free to share that, too!  It would be nice to know that someone had a good day.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

1) Immediately upon opening the doors at work this morning the first problem was presented.  Literally less than a minute after opening, the very first patron  through the door tells us that the police had just been in the parking lot, asking if anyone had heard  gun shots.  They said no, and the patrol car took off.  This is worrisome because:

     a) There could be a gun-toting loony shooting outside.

     b) Should we even be open, giving them a very public place to hide and/or several targets in one place?

     c) I don't live that far from work.  My neighborhood is already a hot mess.  I do not need to worry about being shot.  I am rather fond of being free of bullet holes, and I would very much like to stay that way.

2) Next patron tells us that there is a tornado watch until 5pm.  WTF.  We haven't even been open for 10 minutes yet.  Could we possibly slow down the cheerful tidings a bit?

3) Coworker finds this thing in the staff area.  We have had enough weird-ass bug problems that we literally have a bug jar to trap them in.  This thing was too big to even fit in the bug jar.  I'm thinking it is the biggest black cricket I have ever seen -- like the original, primordial cricket.  I took it outside and released it back into nature.  Whatever it is, I do not want it pissed at me.

So hoping it is really a cricket

4) Patron returns a bunch of wet books and dvds, covered with what can only be described as clear slime.  She says she doesn't know how they got like that.  I point out to her that her entire bag is soaking wet and covered in goo.  She says, "Yeah.  Sorry," and throws the goo-bag back into her baby stroller with the baby and leaves.  Now I get to deal with a bunch of goo-covered items, and the desk has a puddle of slime.  Awesome.

5)  The computers start acting up, being more temperamental than usual.  I watch mine do a slow crash, as everything on the screen very slowly disappears from top to bottom to reveal a completely blank desktop.  A coworker whom had just been logged in is now being told her password is incorrect.  Multiple tries before it will successfully let her back in.  The rate this day is going, I think the computers might be becoming self-aware.  It will not surprise me if Agent Smith or a Terminator walks through the door.

6) Sanity break for lunch, wherein I flee the building and keep telling myself, "The day is almost over.  The day is almost over.  Just a few more hours."

7) Within 15 minutes of returning from lunch I am confronted by an older gentleman who has decided that it is a perfectly good idea to partially disrobe and adjust his clothing in the middle of the library, right in front of the book return.  Seriously?  There is a men's room not more than 50 feet from where you are standing. But no, of course it is a much better idea to handle your business in the middle of the floor, with all kinds of patrons and children around.   I mean he had his belt undone, pants unzipped and was adjusting himself and tucking his shirt back in.   W.T.F.  I'll just put that in the Things I Never Wanted to See category, and try to erase the memory of your boxers from my brain.  I may need a drink later.

8) It decides to rain.  Hard.  Like get really black outside and rain so hard the parking lot looks like a lake for a little bit.  Soaking wet patrons, soaking wet items being returned, and the entire library starts to smell like a giant wet dog.  Imagine what a fun place that is to be.

9) On top of all of this, our security company was in doing work on our system for the majority of the day.  We had no idea they were coming.  They tried to stay out of the way, and actually did a pretty good job.  I really didn't mind their presence at all until pieces of ceiling tile rained down upon my head while I was at the circulation desk.  The only place in the entire building where the ceiling tile crumbles and pieces fall, and it is over my head?  I have obviously done something to piss off a higher power.  

10) Just when I think I am nearing my escape, I get to stay at work for an extra hour.  I can only blame myself for this one.  Due to a scheduling problem they had to shift staff around, and I did kind of volunteer my staying as a solution to cover a hole in the schedule.  Obviously, I am a glutton for punishment.  Or crazy.  Maybe both.  I had hit that point where you think to yourself, "Screw it.  What else can possibly happen?"  Definitely time to make more coffee.

I eventually made my escape, without further incidents.  I got home, thinking I had reached a blissfully peaceful place.  I should have known the day was not done with me yet.

11) Cat drama.  One of the neighborhood feral cats whom I call Mama, as she had kittens last year, came to pay a visit this evening.  Normally this is not a problem.  She hangs out in the backyard all of the time, eyeballing the bird feeder, or just sleeping in the shade.  I leave water out for her in the summer when it is super hot, or when it hasn't rained in a long time.  My two cats could not be less interested in her.  Jazz-kitty in particular has watched her countless times from the window, never once puffing up or making a peep.  Usually she acts more like she wants to make a new friend.  

Jazz-kitty being awesome

Tonight, apparently, a line was crossed.  As I am typing this, relaxing and being grateful that the day is over, I hear this weird little mewling/growling noise.  Wiz is passed out asleep by my feet.  Now I'm thinking Jazz-kitty has managed to get stuck somewhere, or hurt herself.  Nope.  I find her on the back porch, puffed up, making weird little noises and backing away from the screen door.  There on the other side of the door, standing on her back feet, front paws and her little nose pressed against the screen, is Mama Cat peeking into the house.  Jazz flees the scene as soon as I get to the back porch.  She has never met another cat (beside Wiz) and has zero clue what to do.  She obviously will not be a great defender if I need her.  Mama Cat goes down the back stairs, sits in the driveway, and just stares at the house.  

Well, shit.  

I can't let her in.  I don't think she has ever been to the vet, so she could have who knows what wrong with her that I don't want my cats to get.  She can't be thirsty, as the rain very nicely filled up the bowl I had left outside for her.  She doesn't appear to be hurt.  So I give her a bowl of dry food, and she goes to town munching away.  Poor thing!  Who knows how long it has been since she last ate.  

Jazz-kitty reappears, apparently realizing that her food had been given away to an interloper.  I expect her to start spazzing out again, getting all defensive.  Nope. She just jumps up in the window, lays down, and watches Mama Cat eating in the driveway.  She doesn't puff up, doesn't make a peep.  So apparently everybody is cool as long as Mama Cat doesn't come near the door to the house.  

Hopefully this is the end of my excitement for they day.  I know it isn't really, as Jazz-kitty will now be running from window to window for the rest of the night, investigating any shadow or sound outside.  If that is all the drama that is left for today, I will be happy.

So how was your Monday?

I Think We Understand Each Other Now

Dear Missionary/Proselytizing People,

Coming to my house and banging on the door repeatedly for 5-10 minutes at 9:30 in the morning on a Saturday is not a good idea.  It's not a good idea ever, to be fair, but particularly on a Saturday morning.

Anyone who actually knows me will tell you that it is never a good idea to try contacting me before 11 am on a Saturday morning -- I'm either already gone to work, or it is probably my one day off that week and I would like to sleep in a bit.

The vigor and duration of your knocking this morning woke me up.  Why you didn't try ringing the doorbell is beyond me, so I assumed it must be a panicked person who had overlooked it.   The thoughts going through my head as I grappled blindly on the nightstand for my glasses were:

--There must be some sort of emergency!  Maybe a neighbor is trying to get my attention because my house is on fire, or my car has been stolen.
--Maybe someone else's house is on fire, or they need the phone to call 911 from a car accident
--What if it is my parents and something happened and one of them is in the hospital?

Notice that none of those possibilities were happy thoughts because no one who knows me would be knocking on my door at 9:30 unless something awful happened!  That is the kind of thing that wakes you up and immediately puts on on alert.  You don't get to wake up and stretch, kind of lazily wander on out to make coffee.  Your heart starts racing, and you brace yourself to deal with whatever shit-storm is about to come your way.

I rushed to the door to see what was going on; glasses askew, bed head in full effect, still rocking my pajamas.  I passed my two cats, who were freaking out and running in the opposite direction, away from the Stranger Danger at the front door.

Imagine my surprise when I open the front door to find two guys in suits, their gold minivan parked in front of my house.  Their little name tags made it clear they were not police detectives, but from a church.

I bet at that moment you knew it was not a good idea to have been so zealous in getting someone to come to the door.  That fleeting look of "Mistake!" crossed one of your faces.  Did it stop you from starting your rehearsed spiel?  Of course not.

And don't say it isn't a rehearsed speech.  Spare me.  I don't know what I have done to convince your church that I am the Spawn of Satan, but my house seems to be on a list of "must-see stops" on your little missionary quests.  I have previously spoken to your people 3 times and told them that I am not at all interested.  I have found your pamphlets stuck under my door, or in my mailbox (which is illegal, just so you know), or under the handle of my front porch door on 8 different occasions.  That is 11 visits in the 3 years since I bought this house.  I don't think your representatives have come to my parents' house that many times in 30 years!

One of the latest pamphlets.  It had been pushed under my front door with such force that it went under my throw rug.  I found it last night when I was vacuuming.

I tried to be polite at first.  I really did.  I said Good Morning.  I let you you make your warm-up small talk.  (On a previous visit one lady asked if my parents were home.  I assured her they probably were, at their own house, but that I owned this one.)  No, I did not invite you in off of the front porch.  I did let you make your invitation to come to church and check it out.  I declined and said I wasn't interested.  

 If you had just accepted my answer and stopped at that point we would probably have been much better off.  You couldn't just let it go though, could you?    

You started the hard sell. You seemed to want a theological debate with a woman in her pajamas that you had clearly just woken up, as apparently telling you I was raised Roman Catholic was not a good answer.  Even your coworker (co-missionary?  proselytizing partner? church companion?  god-squad friend?) seemed uncomfortable.

And that would be when I ran out of "Nice".  I work with the public all day, every day.  I have to be "nice" to a lot of people when they are being total assholes.  My reserves of "nice" are pretty low when you wake me up, don't take a polite no for an answer, and then want to debate.

I didn't even get into the religious debate with you.  I've seen my father try that and get stuck in a half-hour conversation.

No.  Nice had gone bye-bye.

I made it very clear that you had woken me up.  That I did not, in any way, appreciate you pounding on my front door, startling me and scaring the bejesus out of my cats.  That I had, in fact, worked the last 11 days straight and this was my one day off -- my one day to sleep in, relax and drink my coffee at my leisure, get my housework done -- before I had to work another 7 days in a row.  

And then I asked you never to darken my doorstep again.  I informed you that repeatedly leaving unsolicited pamphlets, and repeatedly bothering me at home, was not going to make me want to attend your church.  It was, in fact, having the exact opposite affect.

Do I think it will make a difference?  Not at all.  

Maybe those two particular guys will not come back.  Probably they took this as a sign that I really am the Spawn of Satan, and they will redouble their efforts to save me.

Is there a "Do Not Call" list for missionaries?

File Under: Why Me?

So I'm leaving work on my dinner break this evening, and I held the door for the patron behind me.  Mistake!

It is one of our regular patrons who has been coming in for years.  I don't think anything of it until he links arms with me.

Um, okay.  He's a bit older than me -- like 30 years.  I thought maybe he was having trouble walking, lost his balance, something like that.  But he doesn't let go of my arm once we get outside.

This is the conversation that follows:

Patron: What is that delicious smell?  Is that your perfume?

Me: *looks around, sees no one else in the vicinity*   Yes, I guess it is.

Patron:  I like it.  You smell really good.

Me: Thank you.

Patron:  It's different, kind of mysterious.

Me: Thanks.

Patron: Are you married?

*Now, in my head I start worrying a little bit.  We are drifting in to territory I do not want to cover with this man.  At the same time, I don't want to lie. *

Me: Nope.

We pause as I, thankfully, was parked on the opposite side of the parking lot.

Patron:  Okay, that's good to know.  Well, have a nice evening.

Me: You too.

What.  The. Hell.

None of the patrons who have asked me out at work are anyone I would consider dating.  Let us recount:

-- The dude who learned my schedule, wrote bad love poetry on the internet, was in and out of rehab, and tried to sell his belongings to a coworker.

--Another guy who was older than me, although probably the most normal of the group.  He really likes his Sci-Fi movies.

-- A teenager, and after I said no he wanted me to buy him beer.

-- The guy who needed help writing his resume, had a high school diploma, and was living in his car.

Those are the standouts in my memory.

T.G.I.F.

Santa and His What Now?

First, the briefest back-story  possible....

When I was little, my parents took my brother and I on a trip to The North Pole.  My Uncle John,  Aunt Robin, and my cousins went as well.  When we went to visit Santa he was on a break, and we got to see Mrs. Claus.

Apparently my dear brother was not going to tolerate that.  Later on in the day, he decided to go back and see Santa by himself, without telling anyone.  Not good when you are just a little guy.  We found him, eventually, hanging out with Santa, but not before my Aunt had started checking all of the ponds and water features, sure that he had fallen into one of them and drowned.

The point of this awesome story -- there is an amusement park in New York state for kids that is called The North Pole.  I even included the link above for your enjoyment.

Got it?  Good.  Keep that in mind as you read on.

My niece and nephew are here staying for a few weeks.  Here is a guide to the people involved in tonight's conversation:

L: My niece.  She is 10.
A: My nephew.  He is 5.
Mom:  My mother.  She would kill me if I listed her age.
Me:  That would be me.  And old enough.

This is the conversation that took place in the car earlier this evening.

A: I've never seen snow.
L: I have!
Mom: We know.
Me: Austin that's why you should tell your Daddy that you want to come visit in the winter!
L: For my birthday!!!!!
Me: I tried mailing you a can of snow for Christmas.  Did it work?
L: Sort of, but it didn't really feel like snow.

Kids are chatting in the back of the car...

Me: Maybe we should take him to The North Pole.  They had that cool ice pole thing that was there all year round!
Mom:  Did they have snow?  I don't remember.
Me: I remember Aunt Robin thought Brian had drowned somewhere.

A: I've been to the North Pole!
L: No you haven't!
A: Uh-huh!  I was there, and I saw Santa, and I was throwing snowballs at him and his midget clowns and...
Me:  Wait wait wait...what?  His midget clowns?!
A:  Yeah.  His midget clowns.
Me: You mean his elves?
A: Yeah -- his midget clowns.  The guys in the funny suits.  They hate children.

At this point I kind of checked out on the conversation.  I was laughing so hard about the "midget clowns" instead of elves that I never did hear why he thought that they hated children.