Top Five Reasons I Have Not Posted in a Month (and Other Stuff)

When I can think of nothing to say I make up an inane list to fill the space. Exhibit A:

5. My daughter has provided me with zero topics since the very popular Tokio Hotel post below. Which got plenty of traffic due to the ridiculous number of girls worldwide googling "Tokio Hotel." Which means I should just write those words repeatedly to lure in the readers. Tokio Hotel. Tokio Hotel. Tokio Hotel. See how clever?

4. My boss actually likes me to get my work done, and I like to end each week by not getting fired.

3. I had hernia surgery. Okay, okay, so that was just three days ago. But I've been mentally working up to it. Very time-consuming.

2. YouTube. Dear Tempting, Easily-Accessible, Deliciously-Time-Wasting YouTube: I blame you.

1. I haven't had an original thought since Oct. 1. Sadly, that might actually be true.

And now for the other stuff (assembled at random):

~ Fact: Vicodin and On Demand will take away all your pain. Okay, that might not actually be a fact. It might be a cry for help. But maybe I'm just splitting hairs . . .

~ This is highly unAmerican, but I just wanted to take the opportunity to note that I hate voting. HATE it. I will not make note here of who I actually voted for, but just suffice it to say that for me, a hopeless fence-sitter, being forced to fill in that little bubble (more on that in a moment) is akin to, ummmm, something really sucky (okay, the Vicodin is still making me a little foggy, sue me). Er, where was I going with this?

~ Whatever, but back to filling in that little bubble -- when I encountered the classic ballpoint pen/bubble sheet voting method at my local polling site last week, I realized then and there how much freakin' trouble our country is in. Are you serious? A ball point pen? Good lord.

~ Finally, a YouTube video I have been wasting my time watching, appropriately Tokio Hotel-related and, quite frankly, weirdly delightful -- and you can laugh at me all you want. I don't care. I have my Vicodin . . .

Tokio Hotel: Evidence That My Daughter Is Now Exerting Undo Influence on My Post Topics

My daughter is obsessed with Tokio Hotel. If you don't know who they are, then you clearly do not have a 13-year-old budding rocker chick in your household. HOWEVER, this is your lucky day, as we are about to enlighten you. And to that end, I have agreed to publish this totally candid and completely unscripted interview with said daughter, J, in order to afford her the needed publicity to further her career as a, um, 13-year-old. And in keeping with my new obsession regarding posting YouTube videos here, there will, in fact, be a video, somewhere below. Oh, you can't resist.

Me: Why do you like Tokio Hotel?

J: First of all, I love Bill's hair.

Me: Who's Bill?

J: Bill Kaulitz, the lead singer. Second, I just like their music.

Me: What is it about Bill?

J: I love his hair . . .

Me: You already said his hair. Describe his hair.

J: It's big, and black with some blonde and it's straight out, like everywhere.

Me: And you find this to be appealing?

J: Yes, I think it's amazing.

Me: And this Bill, he has his tongue pierced, yes? What about that?

J: He also has his eyebrow pierced and he wears a lot of makeup. And he has a twin brother, and his name is Tom and he has dreads.

Me: Given the choice between dreads and "big hair everywhere"?

J: Definitely big hair everywhere because I think dreads are gross and dirty.

Me: If Bill wanted to borrow your eyeliner, would you let him?

J: Um, yes.

Me: And what color would you give him?

J: Black and blue, well it's more like a green color, teal, that's what I'm going to call it . . .

Me: It's my duty as a parent to inform you that you should never share your eyeliner. You could get an eye infection.

J: But it's Bill!

Me: One last question: If Tokio Hotel were a kind of tree, what kind of tree would they be?

J: A rainbow tree.

Me: What does that mean?

J: I don't know but I like it.

Are you still with me? Good job! Okay here's that video I promised. But it's just of Tokio Hotel, so don't get too excited. You can just leave if you want. I won't be offended . . . HOWEVER, if you'd like a giggle, check out Bill's reaction at, oh, about :49, as they win the VMA for Best New Artist. It's actually quite entertaining . . .



Okay, daughter -- you owe me.

The Weekly, Er, Monthly Wrap-Up

It's been a full flippin' month since I've been on here, and while I vaguely remember having at some point vowed to write for no one but myself, all two of my current readers are threatening to dump me for some other, like, "regularly updated" yet certainly inferior pointless random blog. Sooooo, here I am. Because I kinda crave the attention, quite frankly.

This leaves me with no choice but to write what will surely amount to a lame-ass wrap-up, which, you may recall, is merely an excuse for me to dump out some of the random shit that has collected in my head. Sorry. (And why, you ask, is Lil' Wayne hangin' out lookin' all cool up there? You'll just have to read on, my friend. Read on.)

1. My favorite headline for today: UCLA Group Discovers Humongous Number. First of all, humongous is the least specific adjective I can think of to describe a number, which leads me to believe this headline was written by a 4th grader. Which is excellent. Second, I was unaware that there were numbers lurking in, oh, the dark recesses of the Amazon jungle, just awaiting discovery. Thirdly, no one informed me that by "discovering" said number, you could win -- get this -- $100,000. One hundred freakin' thousand dollars. Forget solving the energy crisis, I'm huntin' me some numbers! (No, I was not actually trying to solve the energy crisis, but it's the first thing that came to mind. Work with me here).

(In case you're too lazy to click the link -- or actually have stuff to do! -- the number they've "found" is a 13-million-digit prime number. Which was actually discovered and verified by on a network of 75 computers running Windows XP. First, if they're not scratching it out on a blackboard I don't think it should count. Second, the article quite glaringly specified the Windows XP part, which also leads me to believe that this is merely a crafty publicity stunt staged by Bill Gates to distract me from those hil-a-rious Mac and PC commercials. "Eat me. I'm a delicious pizza." I rewind to watch that line repeatedly. It amuses me. So eat it Bill Gates. I'm on to you.)

2. I'm kind of delighted by Russell Brand. Don't worry, I'm fully aware that the things I find endlessly amusing are the things that oh, say 85% of other people in general, and 98.9% of other women, find somewhat (or exceedingly) appalling. I have watched the VMAs four times now just to enjoy him -- oh, and to marvel over how Lil' Wayne keeps his pants on. I am fascinated by this. It's really a freakin' gift. Ninja even. Okay, okay, judge for yourself:




3. Watching a great football catch makes me ridiculously happy. I have watched this one with a deep and abiding joy, numerous times. Sadly, between this and the VMAs, my free time is now in alarmingly short supply.



4. Okay, you got me -- I'm watching Lil' Wayne keep his pants on -- again -- right now. Good lord. Somebody please help me . . .

If You Don't Like Football, You Probably Will Be Bored With This Post. But Maybe Not.

Last night I got to do what every mom dreams of -- I took my daughter to her first professional football game.

Okay, I know that's not what every mom dreams of. I'm not sure I actually ever even dreamed of it. But it was pretty flippin' fun.

You have to know my daughter, however; she is a miniature almost-13-year-old version of me. Well, not so miniature, as she is only about 2 inches shorter than I am. And she looks nothing like me (I, of the dark hair and olive complexion; she of the Dutch blond and porcelain skin variety). But she thinks like me, and if you've read any of this blog previously, you'll know that my thinking is not of, oh, the typical girl variety. This is a girl who, after I got a tattoo, told me that when she gets a tattoo, it will be the word "PIMP" in huge letters across her torso. I related this to my friends, who seemed slightly horrified. I thought it was hilarious. See? Not typical.

Anyhoo, we had two sets of tickets -- my son (he of the ham beard) and my soon-to-be-ex-husband-with-whom-I-am-still-on-very-good-terms (good lord, is there some more graceful way to say that? Henceforth, he will be STBEHWWIASOVGT. No, that sucks too. Nevermind.) were in the club seats, and my daughter and I took the less luxurious concourse seats, entirely pleased, quite frankly, to be that much closer to the action (12 rows back, in the corner of the endzone. He-ey!).

We spent much of the time giving each other a running commentary on the people around us. The tie-dyed Rams shirt she deemed "tragic." The chick in the high heels and Ed Hardy t-shirt -(who wears heels to a football game? Poser!). Grossing out over the old dude next to us who only whipped out his binoculars when the cheerleaders were on the field. I'm not kidding. Remember, we were only 12 rows back. And then he followed them with said binoculars as they bounced by us and exited the field. He might actually have been drooling. Seriously.

My daughter kept referring to the cheerleaders as strippers, by the way. This made me laugh. Perhaps I am the only one entertained by this.

The truth is, however, that my daughter and I both actually love football. LOVE it. She is a Florida Gators fan through and through, and I am of a Packers persuasion, but we totally dig the game, and I got to sit there and coach her through everything play by play, while she ACTUALLY PAID ATTENTION. It was sweet. And not in a lame-ass girly way.

Sadly we made our exit early in the fourth quarter because my 11-year-old son, who was bored save for ogling the cheerleaders, begged us by text message to go. Because he apparently hates football. I'm ordering the DNA test post-haste.

A SIDE NOTE: On the way out, while we were waiting to hook up with son and, er, STBEHWWIASOVGT, we stopped and grabbed ourselves a couple of hot dogs -- or, more accurately, what the concession stand has cleverly dubbed -- get this -- "Ram Dogs." Holy shit, that is just wrong on soooo many levels. Oh, St. Louis, I love you.

Oh, in case you were wondering, the Rams actually won, 24-10. But they were playing the Ravens, who played like girls, so I'm not sure that even counts.

Ham Beard

I don't think that's kosher . . .

The Weekly Wrap-Up: Tuesday Edition

Most people wouldn't do a weekly wrap up on Tuesday, but since it's been more than a week since I've been here, and since I'm thinking about it right this second, here you go. I'm a pioneer like that . . .

(This will be, by the way, a random list of stuff in my brain this week that I've been meaning to post about, and have not. You have been warned.)

1). Have you ever been the moderator for a forum whose spam filters have been turned off? It's gross. Seriously. I feel the urgent need to shower each and every time I run through the comments ranging from porn to viagra to broken English bidding me to "Visit great site . . ." (yeah, broken English makes me feel dirty, too.)

Here's the funniest one I got today, which is actually apologizing for spamming us. So polite! (Note: I've removed the annoying car insurance link lest someone actually click it and get a horrible disfiguring virus . . . )

"Hello, Your site is perfect, sorry for my post ( link was here ) sorry one more time"

2) In the last six weeks or so I've seen major news coverage of young men (in Florida and Louisiana) who have had their arms removed by alligators while swimming. Now I have the greatest sympathy for anyone who's suffered such a misfortune, especially a child as in the second case. However, have folks not heard the news about alligators? Urm, here's an update -- alligators are large carnivorous reptiles that lurk in EVERY SINGLE BODY of water in the states mentioned. I have lived in Florida -- if there's a puddle big enough, they're in there. And there are signs posted on EVERY SINGLE BODY of water that say "Alligator Habitat." Uhhh, don't swim in the water. Then the alligators won't try to eat you. It's a simple rule . . .

2a) A side note, related to the above issue. This article on eHow has apparently been written specifically for very very stupid people, on oh so many levels: How to Buy an Alligator.

3) My kids have been grounded this week from all things they previously deemed enjoyable (meaning anything that plays music, allows access to electronically transmitted information, shows pretty moving pictures, you get the idea). The result? Turns out they like reading, cooking, and board games, and are actually pleasant little people once you unplug them. Who knew?

4) There's more, but I have this funny little job thing I have to get to now. Perhaps there will be a mid-weekly wrap-up in the offing. One can only hope.

You may or may not notice that this image (which is what you find when you search "alligator smiling" FYI) says "angie" in the lower left corner -- it was like that when I got it. Weird. Oh, and it came from this site: Superhero Nation)

Google Analytics Addiction: Is There a Support Group or Something?

Two words. Google. Analytics.

Okay, before I start, let me be clear about this: I hate statistics. Well, I hate keeping statistics, taking them, attempting to decipher them all by my lonesome. Statistics class in college was my most dreaded, which is why I saved it 'til my very last semester (and then barely scraped by with some stupid project on PDAs. Yeah, Public Displays of Affection. What the heck was I thinking? Hard to say.)

Anyhoo, turns out I love statistics as long as someone else puts them together for me. And when they're about something the directly involves me. And when they're presented in multiple fun formats with a bazillion different aspects I can access at the click of the mouse.

Which is why I am addicted to Google Analytics.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, here's a brief overview: Google Analytics allows you to put a tracking code in the HTML of your blog, and it will then keep track of all your traffic. Or lack thereof (and there's the rub).

On days when I have a blog post that's included in the BlogHer network ad picks, I am in Analytics heaven -- I revel in my ability to look at the sources, cities of origin, networks, keywords, even screen resolutions. Right -- I'm a freakin' dork. But I am read! I am noticed! I am popular!

And then there are the rest of the days (like 26 out of 30) where I have my REGULAR traffic, which can range from, say, 3 visits to, oh, maybe, 12 (actually 10 but work with me here). And then there are the rest of the rest of the days (like 3 out of 30) where I have NO TRAFFIC AT ALL. On those days, I click on my blog myself, just so later on my traffic line graph doesn't quite dip all the way down to zero.

Oh my god I can't believe I just told you that. It's a sad sad little blogging world I have here.

And I would be feeling truly pathetic about all of this, were it not for the fact that in my new job with Simply Good Media (home of The Budget Fashionista -- shameless plug! Woo hoo!) I am encouraged -- nay, expected -- to "analyse" the Google Analytics. Now I get paid to check traffic sources and entry paths.

The blogging gods have smiled upon me, my friend.

Now, if you would just click some more posts around here so I have something on my own Analytics account to affirm my blogging self-worth, that would be great, thanks.

P.S. That image is not MY Google Analytics account -- I am far too lazy to grab a screenshot, and quite frankly, this traffic is waaaay better. Also, I had intended to comment on some of the weird place/search keywords I've encountered on Google Analytics, but the dog needs walking, so that will have to wait until Part Deux -- I know, cliffhangers suck.