Today I was going to write a bitter, melancholy ‘year in review’ – about the absolute tyranny of crapulance that has been 2010, which culminated in the demise of my relationship with the Novelist, which I’ve kind of failed to mention because I don’t want to make the whole thing sound more dramatic than it actually is (especially as the decision was mutual and we’re still friends). Which reminds me, I know some of you are lovely and protective of my soul made entirely from marshmallows, but it’s worth asking you to please not attack the Novelist in the comment section – we’re still friends, and there really isn’t any need.
If anyone would like to attack me, however, then by all means, please do so (bring it, trolls). Alternatively, you can email me some rage at the usual address.
Anyway, just as I was about to embark on my misery fuelled post, I took a cursory glance at my stats:
And I decided that writing about the discovery of someone hitting my blog under slightly bizarre search-terms, presumably with the intent to weird me out, makes for a far more interesting post.
I wasn’t overly suspicious of the odd search terms at first; admittedly, there are usually a couple of entries in my stats which raise an eyebrow (or two) – the most recent one being ‘extreme pmt paranoia’ which some poor hormone ridden woman had searched for, hoping for answers for her insurmountable PMT anxiety and found my blog instead. After discovering the search-term ‘“Jo and the novelist” is a great blog but her friends are fucking with her stats’ I began thinking that maybe this wasn’t about people Googling odd things and accidentally visiting my blog, because it was actually about someone going to the effort of putting unique combinations of keywords into Google, and hitting my site to make it into my stats.
I have to say, I’m pretty impressed.
The worrying part is, I’m completely unsure as to whether ‘Jo is into sluttery’ was part of this cleverly orchestrated plan to fuck with my stats, or if someone genuinely felt that Jo (me, or whoever else) was into sluttery and needed Google to confirm it.
I’m also a tad worried that ‘why I should not be a novelist’ is exempt from the fuck-with-my-stats plan too. I kind of want to be flattered that aspiring novelists, in a moment of insecurity, ask
God Google why they shouldn’t be a novelist and a link to my blog holds the top spot, but I can’t help but feel like this doesn’t really qualify as any kind of real achievement. In fact, it pretty much proves that I am living proof of why anyone should not attempt to become a novelist.
Randomly, at number 2,
God Google vomited up a link to something which strangely relates to the collapse of my relationship and doesn’t really have anything to do with not becoming a novelist.
I clicked the link, and as it happened the reasons why you shouldn’t date a writer if you’re a writer are pretty accurate. And so I would suggest you click here, and read the post yourself because it will save me the trouble and extreme awkwardness of having to write about my break up. However, if you are not a writer and you are planning on dating me, then may I suggest that you don’t click the link.
Did I just say dating? HA!
- This year has been a big pile of poo, but not quite as big a pile of poo as 2007 – the year that wasn’t. For one thing, I can still laugh, cry and afford to buy toilet paper.
- Come 2011, I might need to think of a new title for my blog. Suggestions welcome.
- I’m totally into sluttery. Even Google confirmed it.
- I don’t know why we should get sweaty in our 60s. FYI: I didn’t click that link – it’s part of the Daily Mail website.
- If you’re fucking with my stats, thanks for giving me an idea for today’s post.
This will probably be my last post before Christmas. So before I sign off, I’d like to wish you all a very Merry Christmas. Even if you’re fucking with my stats…