October 27, 2010

I Was Almost Murdered In The Shower. For Reals.

Ok. So I recently told you guys how much I loved my new Stats feature that lets me see the who/what/when/where of my blog readers. I’m so totally gonna take that back now, because although I am obsessed with it, it is starting to freak me out. And not in a good way. I like to be freaked out just as much as the next gal, but now I’m looking over my shoulder and expecting to be kidnapped or attacked at any moment. While I was taking a shower this morning I thought I heard a gruff man voice chuckling at me, and I thought “Great. I’m finally gonna get murdered. I totally expected this, but did it have to be in the shower? I wonder if the murderer will let me get dressed first. Maybe straighten my hair and apply a little makeup. Because if this is it, my last moment, I don’t want to be nude, wet and totally bloated from my period! Maybe he’ll take a rain check and come back in a few days when I de-puff a little and have my act together.” I have watched enough horror movies in my 38 years to know that they photograph the shit out of you when you are the body in a crime scene. And if that’s my last photo shoot ever, I think I deserve to look good. I want some “Oh, what a shame someone so hot had to die so violently,” not “Holy crap balls! Throw a sheet over that train wreck!” Tonight, when Steve gets home from work, I am going to instruct him that if I am murdered while PMS-ing or being all periody, he needs to tell the CSI team that it was  an unfortunate time of the month for me and that I usually look better, and maybe show them a few photos of me when I looked thin.

Well, since I’m writing this I guess you Einstein’s have figured out that I am alive. Although I could totally be writing this from the grave because I have plans…big plans to haunt the crap out of people, and I have 100% confidence that I could still type a blog from the afterlife. Easy peasy. But for now, yeah, I’m alive. And that gruff man laughter I heard? I had my foot over the drain and when I moved it the backed-up water gurgled down the drain in a very man voicey way. But trust me, it so sounded like a murderer laughing at me while I shaved my legs. And it’s not like I ever over-react. At all.

So…what was I talking about? Oh yeah….the Stats tracker on my blog and how it has convinced me I am a goner. So anyway, it tracks everything, you guys, and one of the things it tracks is the crap people type into Google that leads them to my blog. At first the stuff was funny, but now it’s starting to get crazy, as in psycho fetishy murderer crazy. Here are a few things from this week:

suck my balls long time
dry humping moms shoeless foot
that mom sure can suck
my balls need loving too
mom wants my nuts
I love my balls so much

Discoveries? There are an insane amount of computer using people out there who are obsessed with things involving their balls. And there are an amazing amount of readers from countries that sound like very vampire, werewolf, Jack The Ripper and stealing-girls-so-they-can-be-sold-into-the-sex-trade infested places. Slovenia? Check. Latvia? Check. And there are others that I have never even heard of, but they sound dangerous. It’s a big world out there you guys, and I’m finally realizing that this weird stuff I write is going to all of it. Do prisoners get internet? Do any of you know? Because that is another demographic I didn’t have in mind when I started blogging. (Not that I don’t like you incarcerated guys. I’m sure you are really amazing. I don’t mean that in a flirty way. Just a regular way. Not that I don’t think you’re attractive. It’s just that I’m not interested, is all. Not because I think I’m too good for you or anything. I’m sure you deserve better than me. I’m just already taken. Okay? Although I’m sure you’re super great. And by the way, women really aren’t super-interested in balls. Just FYI. No offense.)

I guess what really sticks out from those Googled phrases is the fact that they all have to do with sucking, balls, and dry humping. So I guess the obvious solution here is that I refrain from using those words on my blog. But I think you all know me well enough by now to know that that’s never gonna happen.

So I’m officially a risk-taker. I’m livin’ on the edge. Although I am obviously a magnet for people who spend alot of time on the internet typing in creepy things, I’m just gonna live my life with wild abandon so that I can keep writing the weirdo-attracting stuff that you all like so much. And for that, I think I deserve a round of applause. I’m putting my life on the line for you guys. Or at the very least, my sheltered suburban existence. And all I ask in return is that you keep reading. And maybe give me some free wine. Or tequila. Or take me out to dinner. Maybe a movie. I like gift cards too. And chocolate. And please, if I turn up missing, form a vigilante group of pissed off moms and call yourselves The Pissed Off Patti Posse, and get cute matching vigilante group t-shirts made and then go find me at some seedy sex trade market auction, and buy me back so I can come home. I’m sure it won’t take much money. I’m almost 40, I’m periody and I’m super sassy. I’ll definitely be affordable.

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