Today, I looked at stats for the blog, just to see how things were doing. We’ve reached a rip-roaring 16,522 views since starting this blog in May of 2012.
I’m thinking to myself,
Wow, we must have the same amount of views in the entire existence of the blog that the Bloggess probably gets in a day. This must be how it feels to make it in the blog world. Sort of. Maybe another 100,000 views and then we’ve made it.
I always figured that’s it is a really good thing that I enjoy writing, because let’s be honest, I haven’t really put much into the blog to get more than self satisfaction, the occasional enjoyable reader comment, and a few twitter-y friends. And I’m okay with that. So imagine how surprised I was when I went to log into wordpress and found that my username had been put on lock down.
Holy shenanigans. I think. Someone is trying to steal my incredibly cool albeit worthless blog.
I’m the next @N_is_stolen.
That made perfect sense, until I remembered reading Naoki Hiroshima’s story about his twitter name getting stolen. His username? That was worth $50,000. Mine?
This is according to TIME magazine too, so it must be accurate. Find your own worth here, if you’re interested.
Obviously whoever was trying to break into the realms of the Mitt was not after fame (16,522 views) or fortune ($81 dollars). I’m sitting here, wondering to myself, why the hell would anyone try to break into Chicks in the Mitt?
And then I got the e-mail that potentially explained things a little bit.
You know you’ve made it, or something like that, when you get your first dose of Haterade.
Cheers, angry human being. Thanks for the views!
It’s probably not a good idea to thank potential people that may or may not be trying to hack into your life.
Case in point? I just logged onto my facebook and found this at the top.
Which is confusing, because I haven’t been on Pinterest today, and have never had it set up to post to my Facebook, because I don’t think you want to know what I’m pinning if you don’t follow me on Pinterest, and I don’t really want what you’re pinning all over my Facebook unless it’s delicious food and you’ve made it for me.
Facebook is for getting angry at people posting photos of babies and marriage and getting overly angry at rude political memes. And that’s all.
So, I go to log into my Pinterest account because I definitely did not pin this thing two minutes ago, and I find this:
Guys, I think someone is after me. They must not realize that I accidentally and stupidly got stuck in a snowbank this morning and that I’m really not that cool.
R E A D I N G I just finished reading Mitch Albom’s The First Phone Call from Heaven. The one thing I’ve always appreciated about Mitch Albom is his books are one-sit-reads. Quick, enjoyable, and PLOT TWIST.
W R I T I N G I’ve got my old journal which was started back in 2011 that I’ve been trying and trying to finish. I used to fill a blank book in two months with thoughts and ponderings and the like. I just cleaned out an old purse though, and it was filled with all sorts of mementos that I want to save. Plane tickets, concert tickets, photos, memories. I’ve decided that if I’m going to keep them, I need to put them in a journal now, lest they just sit in an old Coach bag forever in my closet.
L I S T E N I N G to Basia Bulat. The big sister (VS) introduced me to her song The Shore over Christmas, and I’ve been addicted ever since. The harmonies, you guys. The gorgeous, gorgeous, pee-my-pants-amazing harmonies. And then, you calm down about the harmonies and you’re like OMG, THE AUTOHARP. I tried to convince my Dad to buy me an Autoharp from Natural Wonders once. DOES ANYONE REMEMBER NATURAL WONDERS?!
Basia Bulat is actually coming to Grand Rapids on April 3 with The Head and the Heart and I’m pretty strongly debating going because I want to hold both hands up in the air and sing along to all the songs and all the words. Plus, it’s my birthday the next week.
T H I N K I N G that I might buy an autoharp. It’s a small instrument. It’ll fit right next to my guitars. They can all be friends.
W E A R I N G my church going clothes still. I’d like to also point out that I wore white jeans to church and they’re still clean.
L O V I N G that Peyton Manning is currently losing the Superbowl. I really don’t care at all for him. Or for Eli Manning. Or for the Williams sisters, or anyone else that participates in an OREO eating commercial.
W A N T I N G better commercials. Isn’t that what the Superbowl is about? The best moment thus far was when James Franco tried to sell everyone cars because Poof and I started texting Hoodie Allen lyrics to each other.
N E E D I N G Hoodie Allen to release new music. What’s the phrase they use? Drop the album, or something like that? Well, drop the album, Hoodie. Let’s go.
Feels good to make something you're proud of from scratch
— Hoodie Allen (@HoodieAllen) January 31, 2014
F E E L I N G like twitter’s White Bronco jokes might be more exciting than the actual Superbowl.
feels like 1994, because peyton is also a white bronco going nowhere
— josh (@Whoabot) February 3, 2014
Current Score: Seahawks: 5074915871, Bronocs: 17 close ups of Peyton’s face.
C L I C K I N G the refresh timeline on twitter. New jokes, kids. New jokes.
So, I’m in my car heading back to work after lunch. It’s a crappy, crappy day. It’s rained on and off all day, including one torrential downpour for ten to fifteen minutes.
Me: Geez, what a shitty day.
I love music, obviously, and I have a lot of it. More than I probably need, which is why I tend to be a big fan of the shuffle feature on my iPod. It drives some of my friends nuts, because I’m also indecisive as hell, and tend to listen to ten seconds of music before I decide to move on to the next song.
— Laura Anne (@LA_theGirl) July 25, 2013
But shuffle is just what a girl needs sometimes. Variety. The spice of life. And sometimes, the iPod gets it just right.
Me: Seriously, iPod, that was creepy. What was that even?
iPod: I don’t know.
Me: Ha. It’s like your in my head.
iPod: Read my mind.
Me: Did Steve Jobs secretly give you a brain and not tell me?
iPod: You are not a robot.
Me: Now you’re just being creepy.
iPod: Lovely Ladies.
Me: I can’t tell if you’re hitting on me or calling me a whore. WTF.
iPod: Why don’t we do it in the road?
Me: STOP IT, iPod. JUST STOP IT.
Ipod: Don’t speak.
Me: OFF BUTTON.
P.S. the title of this blog post is from the fully wonderful episode of my favorite teenage angst show, Daria.
Doctor: And do you often talk to your computer?
Daria: Only when the refrigerator is mad at me.