An Open Letter to People Who Find my Blog Accidentally (Volume 3)

Dear People Who Find my Blog Accidentally: 

Good morning and happy September! First, I’d like to thank you for really stepping it up this month. Last month, you had me down in the dumps. You seemed to be accidentally searching mainly for two things – Zak Bagans and Spencer Reid. As I am openly disdainful of one and in love with the other, these were, I suppose, common routes to get here accidentally, if not a little sad and/or wrong. They were not very interesting, however. They did not make me laugh with glee when reading my stats. 

Me after reading last month's stats. SAD EFFING PANDA.

This month, though, oh, you people! You win. You totally win. I have no idea what kind of nitrous oxide you’ve been sucking before doing your various Google searches that brought you here, but I LOVE YOU SO HARD RIGHT NOW. 

But you totally need my help. Because you are completely lost. Some of you are looking for answers to existential questions; some of you are pervy; some of you have intelligent searches that need to be addressed; some of you need help with your grammar. I CAN TOTALLY HELP WITH ALL OF THESE THINGS. I live to serve. I am the most helpful! It has been proven time and again. Although yesterday the office copier broke and I didn’t help with that. It’s very touchy. It’s a special snowflake and if you walk too heavy-footed past it tray three jams. You have to really be on top of your game to deal with that copier. I just wasn’t. But TODAY! Today I am. So here we go! Solving the world’s problems, one search term at a time. 

To the person who came here by searching for Hyperbole and a Half Letters Volume 2: 

I don’t know whether to be flattered or to apologize. Both, I guess. Listen, Allie over at Hyperbole and a Half is amazeballs. I’m pretty sure when you accidentally got to Lucy’s Football you were all whaaaa? and noooo and ughhhhh. And you’d be right to be that way, if you were to compare our two blogs. Because if you were to compare the two of us, she’d win. By a landslide. I’m cool with that. I mean, Allie created Clean All the Things. How the hell can I compete with Clean All the Things? I can’t. And I’m not even going to try, really. So, person, I am sorry to have let you down so completely and utterly. But sometimes I talk about whores. Whores are fun, right? I mean, you could come by accident, but stay for the whores. No? FINE. 

To the pervs who came here because they thought there would be free porn: 

There’s not. But I’m pretty sure you realized that when you got here and were totally depressed about the fact that the perviest I get is discussing Halloween costumes and doctors of lady-bits. It does not discourage you, though! Not you, pervs! You want to know about whores that have been ridden hard and put away wet, you want to know about scrappy porn, you want to know about the naughty limerick “There once was a girl from Nantucket,” and you want to know about “sandy sex” slang. Well! These are all things, sadly enough, that I have covered here at one point or another. I do feel like when you got here, you were not expecting my neurotic ramblings, however. Pervs, listen. I feel for you, I do. (NO, NOT “FEEL” YOU CUT THAT OUT.) It must be a hard life, no pun intended, being a perv. All day, you walk around pretending to be a normal member of society; but inside, you are a dirty perv, just dying to search for internet porn or jack off in the adult room of the local video store so that the college kid now doing the job I used to have has to clean up your used tissues. Well, perv, I am sorry about that, I truly am. Also, now I am worried that “sandy sex” is a thing. And that is distressing because I was being facetious when I mentioned it in the context of that horrendous pina colada song. WHY DO PERVS MAKE EVERYTHING A THING. Also, it’s HORSES NOT WHORES. We SOLVED THAT. 

To the people who got here still searching for everything related to Zak Bagans:

Zak Bagans people, I’m sorry to have let you down yet again this month. As we’ve discussed, I don’t know much about or even like Zak Bagans. And I found out today that Joel McHale calls him “The Ghost Douche” on The Soup, and that made me do a happy chair dance. But I do have to hand it to you: your search terms were truly inspired this time around. I will, for you, attempt to answer them; you obviously need them answered, and I am a champion Googler. 

Did Zak Bagans wear adult diapers?  

No, but he did mention in one transcript I found online that one investigation was so scary that he SHOULD have worn them. But as we all know, they never find anything, ever, on Ghost Adventures. So probably he’s just incontinent. Steroids'll do that to a bro.

Ghost adventures zak flex 

I don’t even have to Google this. Zak flexes CONSTANTLY. He’s in a constant state of flex. For the ladies. It’s all for the ladies. Oh, and maybe for the ghosts. 

Ghost Adventures episode where Zak Bagans leaves Florida 

This one is confusing. Is he always in Florida? Is it so exciting and total news when he leaves the state? Is he not allowed to leave the state for legal purposes? Google couldn’t even help me with this one. I don’t know what you’re referring to. I’m so sorry. I can’t help. Here’s a photo of Zak being a douchecicle with a giant pig as a consolation prize.

To the people who got here searching for things that are relationship-related: 

Oh, sweeties, I am so sorry and want to give you big old hugs. First, because you came here, and I know NOTHING about relationships, other than other people have them and they seem good; and second, because you seem so sad! And so searchy! And that I was not in the least bit helpful.  

To the “am I ok with not getting married” person: I can’t answer that for you, but the sheer fact that you went on Google to ask it makes me think you might need some therapy. Google can’t tell you that. Are you? Are you ok with it? If you’re not, then get married. If you are, then stay single. But here’s the thing – if you have doubts? DON’T GET MARRIED. Marriage is not a disposable Starbucks cup that you can toss at the next rest stop, no matter how many people think it is. It’s a serious commitment. I know divorce is just this easy as pie thing now, but we could cut down on the embarrassing divorce rate if we just stopped the “eh, marriage, sure, whatever” thing. 

To the “I love you but” person: Aw, are you looking for advice in telling someone this, or in having been told this? If it’s in telling someone this, just be nice, and to the point, and shut the door completely, please, because if the person is at all delusional and you say something like “maybe someday” they will hang every hope and dream on that and wait and wait and WAIT for that someday to occur and that’s just mean. I’m still waiting for a boy from high school to marry me who told me that I would be his second wife someday. He’s still married to the first one, as far as I know, seeing as how I haven’t spoken to him since 1992, but HE PROMISED SO I’M WAITING. If you were told this: they love you BUT. You don’t need that shit. Someone will love you DESPITE. Someone will love you AND. Screw the BUT. (Hee hee that totally sounded like something the pervs would search for!) 

To the “breakup letter all your fault” person: again, if you’re here because you are writing one of these, same rules apply. Don’t be a dick, short and sweet, no ambiguity. If you’re receiving one – well, if the person says it’s all your fault, that’s a dick move, no? And they wrote it in a letter? What is this, Jane Austen times? Was it sealed with wax, too? If the person said in the letter it’s all their fault – take it as it’s meant. They don’t want to be with you. It’s their fault. It’s their issue. Move on. 

To the number of people who keep searching for the term “football people that fouse”: 

WHAT THE HELL IS A FOUSE. 

Urban dictionary has three definitions, none of which have anything to do with football. It says it can be an alternate term for fiancé (“football people that fiancé?” nope) or a man or woman with many skills that is very attractive and the term is not used with an article (so in that sense it is a noun; doesn’t work. Also, what a funny new word. Is anyone using this?) or a person you consider to be lame or stupid (which is completely the OPPOSITE of the other definition, slang has gotten very stupid. And also a noun. This doesn’t work in the sentence, either.) I guess that last one is the closest to working, but I don’t dig it. And this keeps happening! Fouse is a thing? Do you mean to say house? Because I got a couple of house-related searches – someone wanted pictures of people at a house football party, for what nefarious reason, I could not say, and someone searched for “all the people in the house” which could mean a lot of things so I don’t think I’ll think too hard about it or my brain might explode. ARE THERE ANY YOUNG PEOPLE READING THIS THAT CAN SHED LIGHT ON THIS FOUSEIAN MYSTERY FOR ME.

To the people who are searching things that are totally complimentary to me and I love you so much: 

How to survive fast zombies

Greatness is being thrust upon you now

Scott Disick why is his face so shiny

Julia Campbell eyes 

These are all things that make me smile, and are awesome, and I have covered to some extent, and I am happy to be remembered for and/or help you with. 

You cannot survive fast zombies DON’T EVEN TRY. 

I asked my dad, who is an expert on all things Kardashian, about why Scott Disick’s face is so shiny and his answer was “that guy is a LOSER.” Sorry. That doesn’t explain the shininess very well. But neither does Google, so I guess it’s a better answer than no answer at all. 

Julia Campell’s eyes are as crazy as that goat in the Saturday Night Live Brian Fellowes Safari Planet sketch, but not as crazy as Michele Bachmann’s. 

And yes, greatness IS being thrust upon me now. I KNOW. I am TOTALLY GREAT. THANK YOU. I tell myself that every day, when I psych myself up in the mirror, serial-killer style, before going to work. I AM THE GREATEST. 

To the person who got here with one of the worst-spelled search terms in the history of ever but I still loved it the most: 

“hay your that chic” 

I’m not very chic. And hay, as my dearly departed grandmother used to tell me when I would get excited about something, is for horses, not for young ladies. I covered there/their/they’re the other day, but have not yet covered the your/you’re problem. Your belongs to you; you’re is you are. 

But yes, thank you. I AM TOTALLY THAT CHICK. 

Until next month, my poor lost lambikins. May Google be kind in your searches. 

Love, Me. 

(As always, thank you to Mer for the inspiration for these posts! Oh, if only you knew at the time what that conversation would bring about…)

An Open Letter to People Who Find my Blog Accidentally (Volume 2)

Dear People Who Find my Blog Accidentally:

Last month, I gave you my abject apologies. You seemed to be looking for answers to existential questions, like what could make you whole, and for dating advice. I felt severely bad for you because instead of finding someone who could help you with these very serious, kind of sad questions, you found me instead, and were probably very confused, and probably started cutting, or having sex while wearing multi-colored lip gloss, or whatever it is the kids do these days when they are angsty. 

This month, I’m just kind of worried. 

The search terms that brought you here by accident that I’ve been seeing on my stats page (thanks, Google!) are extremely stress-inducing. Not so much for me, but for the state of the world. Some are fine, and understandable. But it’s the rest I’m worried about. 

My friend Mer gets awesome search terms. I won’t spoil what they are, since she might want to talk about them someday, but let’s just say that they are weird and fun and written in sort of a caveman-like pidgin English. Entertaining! WHY DON’T I GET ANYTHING LIKE THAT. I wouldn’t be up half the night worrying about you people if I got things like this. 

Let’s talk about the normal ones first. Well, ok, maybe not normal, as I’m not sure why this is the place you chose to click, but at least the ones that don’t cause me to stay up nights worrying that you people are the ones who are going to be changing my adult diapers in the nursing home someday unless I choose to drive myself into a pole before that eventuality occurs. 

To the person who came here by searching for “how to get a degree in the UK”: 

Honestly, my first thought here is why you would click on my blog for this advice? Because I think I’ve mentioned England maybe two or three times, and the majority of it was in reference to the time I was struck with Mad Cow Disease (in case you’d like an update on that situation, it’s still dormant, but I’m sure that Mad Cow Disease is very insidious and is just waiting for the right moment to raise its bovine head and kill me with holes in my brain. You’ll know because I’ll start mooing, I’d imagine.) But as I’m totally helpful and it’s obvious you’re grasping at straws, I’ll help you out. 

How to get a degree in the U.K.: 

1. Get off the internet and stop searching for "how to get a degree in the U.K."
2. Enroll at a local university (I hear Oxford is nice, why don't you give them a call)
3. Go to your classes
4. Pass them
5. When you are done, they will give you a piece of paper. This is also known as a "degree."

I mean, I assume this is how it’s done. This is how it’s done in the United States, which is, by the way, where I live? In case you weren’t aware? Which is why clicking on my blog for this advice seems an odd choice? I mean, I suppose things could be different over there. My knowledge of the British school system is limited to Harry Potter movies, really, but I hear Hogwarts is REALLY hard to get into. Also, graduation there seems to consist of defeating Voldemort, and that's really, really hard.

To the multiple people who got here by searching for a variety of terms related to Dr. Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds: 

Well, first, I’m sorry to tell you this, but he’s already taken. Amanda and I have dibs. We’re going to live in a communal relationship in which we share him that will not be at all weird or creepy because he’s a fictional character.

Second, congratulations on your good taste! I have no issue with this search as I’ve personally done it myself. There are very few bad days that can’t be solved by looking at a photo of Dr. Spencer Reid. I don’t even have an issue with the choices you made in search terms: “Spencer Reid,” “Spencer Reid and his mother,” and “Spencer Reid with glasses.” These are all valid choices. 

I do feel bad because I’ve only mentioned him a couple of times. You probably came here to find out top-secret info about him, or to see photos that weren’t already posted somewhere else, or something. I don’t have the inside scoop, searchers. This isn’t a Spencer Reid blog. Yes, you could make the argument that it might be more interesting if it was; and, depending on the day, your argument might be a good one.  

I do have to say, though, I’m 99% sure that there aren’t too many socially-awkward, borderline-autistic FBI geniuses in real life who are actually models. I know, I don’t mean to blow your mind, or anything, but the real life person who plays Spencer Reid, Matthew Gray Gubler, used to model. He’s just that pretty. The man has the most classic bone structure I’ve ever seen. 

What? Why are you screaming profanities at me? Oh, you think Spencer Reid is REAL? Oh. Oh, that’s nice. Oh, I wasn’t aware you were a crazy. I’m sorry. I should have known because no one searching for Matthew Gray Gubler showed up here. If you think he’s real, how has it never occurred to you that his mom is Sue Sylvester from Glee? Do you think Sue is also a schizophrenic mental patient when she’s not coaching cheerleading? 

See? Proof. This is Matthew Gray Gubler modeling. Do you think Dr. Spencer Reid would do this? It would make him too nervous and he would go read in the corner. 

Oh, ok, fine. You want Dr. Spencer Reid because the real person makes you nervous and you think (as, listen, we all do, that’s why all of us geek girls have such a raging crush on him) that you would have more of a chance with Dr. Spencer Reid. Fine. Here. For you. 

Spencer Reid: 

Spencer Reid and his mother: 

Spencer Reid with glasses: 

YOU’RE WELCOME. Don’t say I never gave you anything. Just keep in mind that HE BELONGS TO ME AND AMANDA AND YOU CAN’T HAVE HIM. 

To the astronomically high number of people who got here with creepy searches related to Zak Bagans from Ghost Adventures: 

I hope you’re happy. It’s because of you people I am having problems sleeping at night. WHY ARE SO MANY OF YOU SEARCHING FOR THIS DOUCHEBAG.  

Is it the hair? The greasy, oddly-sculpted hair? Or the Ed Hardy shirts? Or the muscles? I mean, I guess it might be the muscles. He is muscley, in that “I spend more time at the gym than I do anything else, bro” kind of way. Is that hot? I guess it must be, to some people? Is it the bad acting? Is it the fact that HE NEVER REALLY FINDS A GHOST? What the hell is wrong with you people? 

This is the list of searches that I’ve seen over the last month. Each of these was searched by more than one person. Some of them by DOUBLE-DIGITS of people. No, I’m not kidding. I wish I was.

Zak Bagans hair

Zak Bagans puppy

Zak Bagans body

Zak Bagans half possessed

Zak Bagans leg tattoos

Put in a list like this, it’s even more horrible to contemplate than I’d imagined. It’s like a poem from hell.  

Listen. I know you came here by accident because I put ONE photo, ONE TIME, of this jackass on my blog. And it was to emphasize how stupid his hair is. That’s it. I am not a fan of this person. I am actually the opposite of a fan. I OPENLY MOCK HIM. A few days ago, I found out he’d written a book. A book! An actual book! And I wrote that on Twitter, and made fun of that fact, because I could not imagine what a book written by someone who seems to communicate entirely using “Dude” and “Bro” would consist of. AND A ZAK BAGANS FAN SITE RETWEETED THE TWEET. No, not a ‘bot, although that would have made me feel a little better. It was some teeny-bopper kid who seems to spend her life tweeting alternately about how much she loves Zak and retweeting anything anyone says about him (and being unable to differentiate between positive and negative things being said about him – there IS such a thing as bad publicity, honey) and talking about her life. She uses a lot of stars and LOLs. So I’m pretty sure it’s a real person. Or a ‘bot very good at impersonating one.   

I realize I’m actually giving this asshat publicity by talking about him right now, but I’m secure in the knowledge that it’s not really TMZ I’m writing for, here. A million people aren’t going to read this. Even on my best day, I only got about 150 hits. 

I will now go down your list for you, searchers, and explain to you why looking at it makes me want to scream “MY EYES! MY EYESSSSS!” 

Zak Bagans hair: is upsetting. And gelled to architecturally impossible heights. And when he gets going on his ghost adventures, it starts falling down and looking messier and messier and funnier and he kind of looks like he got caught in the rain and it was not kind to him. Douche meter (on a scale of 1-10) 8 

Zak Bagans puppy: according to Google, Zak (I’m still not entertained by the fact that he doesn’t have a “c” in his name, every time I type it I want to fix it, it just LOOKS affected) has a puppy named Ripley he is teaching to hunt ghosts. Don’t fear, PETA. The Ghost Adventures crew has never found a ghost. Ripley is in NO DANGER. Douche meter - 6 

Zak Bagans body: he’s annoyingly muscled, and he knows it. He wears super-tight Ed Hardy t-shirts and pants that fall off his ass to show off this fact. You know what I like? Beer guts. Because they show that a man likes the finer things in life. Bacon, cheese, and bread. Douche meter - 5 

Zak Bagans half possessed: we’ve already discussed this. It wasn’t pretty. Well, ZAK thought he was pretty. Because it was a LADY ghost. Douche meter - 10 

Zak Bagans leg tattoos: I refuse to do a Google search for these on the grounds that they will infect my computer with a douche virus and that’s hard to clear up. Once you let a douche in, it’s tenacious. I’m sure they’re awful. I’m thinking tribal tattoos. Or possibly people’s names in graffiti-style. Or just the word “Dude” repeated over and over and over so he doesn’t forget his lines on the show. Douche meter - 8 

My problem is this: I don’t understand what people find attractive these days. Justin Bieber? Zak Bagans? Am I completely out of my mind that people find these people to be sex objects? Justin Bieber doesn’t seem to have gone through puberty yet! This is creepy! I mean, I guess it’s ok that little girls are all squealy over him, but it’s worrisome! And Zak Bagans? Really? I mean, there are a million other options on television I could point out as better choices for you who have equally hot bodies. I can’t point out anyone for you with hair like that, though. I don’t know if there IS anyone else with hair quite like that. It’s a feat, that hair. It’s something you have to see to imagine. 

So, people who came here by accident this month: some of you I’m cool with. Some of you are making me extremely worried and I kind of want to take you out to lunch and tell you “this is an intervention” and show you episodes of True Blood until you transfer your affections onto Alexander Skarsgard or something. 

Best wishes to you all. And be careful out there. The safest place is probably with Zak Bagans. There are NEVER any ghosts where he is.

Love, Me. 

(As always, thank you to Mer for the inspiration for the post!)

An Open Letter to People Who Find My Blog Accidentally

Dear People Who Find My Blog Accidentally:

Listen, I am really sorry.

You are aware, aren't you, that if you get here based on a search through Google, I can see that? Because I can. And sometimes it's boring, like people searched for "Lucy's Football," and whatever. But then there are the people that got here via alternate routes, and it is you I am addressing.

This is not at all what you were looking for, based on the search items you input into Google. I can't even imagine what your response is when you get here and you realize you've stumbled into the random insane musings of someone you don't know, who has no authority about any topic at all whatsoever, and who just blathers on and on about topics that aren't at all what you were looking for.

I feel really bad. I can't really figure out what caused you to click, but, since I'm a giver (I am! I'm totally a giver. Like this morning, I gave someone attitude because they were being a douchebag? And tonight, I gave someone a really, really dirty look for sitting in front of me at the movie theater when there were a ton of other open seats he could have just as easily taken and he was like a million feet tall, what the hell? But then he got up, and a family of short children took his seat, which I attribute to karma! See? You give, and the universe gives back. It's like a wheel! The wheel in the sky that keeps on turnin'!) I thought I at least owed it to you to try to answer the question that brought you to my blog. So, this is for you, People Who Came Here Accidentally. You are so welcome. I don't expect thanks, or gifts, but you know what, if you want to give them to me, I can't see myself turning them down, or anything, I mean, who turns down free gifts? There's a saying about that, and everything, "don't look a gift horse in the mouth." And if one of you wanted to give me a pony, well, yeah, because I'm curious what the fuss is all about, I'd look it in the mouth, but I'd also keep it. Because I wouldn't want to hurt your feelings. Also, I like pets.

To the person who came here by searching for "things I expect to see in the shower pie chart":

Hi! I don't have anything like that here. I have a pie chart about whores vs. horses. Perhaps you found that? And were confused? Sorry. I don't know why, exactly, you think a pie chart would be the best thing to quantify the things you'd find in your shower. I'd think a list would suffice? And I don't know if you were honestly curious, or if this is a new pervy thing, because I'm kind of sheltered like that and often find out things like "golden showers means peeing and people get turned on by it" and then I cringe about the state of humanity because how is that sexy and not just a messy cleaning nightmare? Or are you going to go on Family Feud soon and are boning up on America's top 100 answers for things like this?

But like I said, I'm a giver. So, as a gift to you, pie chart guy, here is what you were looking for.

There! Are you totally stoked now? You know what's in my shower! And you could win at Family Feud! And you know I am the most boring person alive! If you need this for a school project or something and were looking for a shortcut, so you didn't have to do it on your own? Here. I give this to you. My gift to you, my friend. I can call you that, right? Because you read my blog? We are totally buds now, right? And if you are pervert, well, go on and imagine me in the shower, then. But I can assure you there's nothing sexy about it. On average, I cut myself 76 times while shaving my legs. I look like I shave with a weed whacker. All turned on NOW, my friend? I thought not.

To the person who came here by searching for "that task because I can":

That is deep. Is is a song lyric? Because I often write down a bit of a song lyric and then put it into Google to see if I can find out who sang it. But if not, well, here, I will be your cheering squad, because that's what I DO. That task? YOU TOTALLY CAN. I know it, because I read this book to my nephew when I was home last time? And it was about this train filled with toys for children, a preponderance of which were clowns? And the train broke down, and I said, "Yay, now the children will be able to sleep, because they won't have to keep one eye open waiting for the clown dolls to rise up and murder them!" and my nephew said, "No, I THINK I CAN" and so I kept reading and apparently the trains could TALK (I know, anthropomorphizing is a little creepy) and the broke-ass train was all "help me!" to every train that went by but the other trains were all "we are too snooty no thanks, clown transport of death" and then a little train came by and said, "Well, I think I'd like to give it a go" because she (yeah, it was a SHE, deal with it, there are girl trains, where do you think model trains come from if there aren't two sexes of trains? Sheesh) wasn't coulrophobic and then there were a lot of hills and to get herself over the hill she'd say "I think I can I think I can I think I can" and my nephew LOVES THAT PART SO MUCH OMG he was chugging and cheering and that was kind of a thing I loved, because who doesn't love the best smartest awesomest nephew in the world cheering for a little literary train? Heartless soulless people who are dead inside, that's who. And then I think the train probably succeeded but I'm not sure because my nephew got overstimulated, what with all of the cheering and such, and threw the book at a mirror. But I'm sure it ended well with a clown under every child's bed or in their closet! And that's why I know you, person who came here by searching for that task because I can, CAN. You can! If the little engine that could, um, could, well, hell, you can. I know you can. I have all the faith in the world in you.

To the person who came here by searching for "what can make me whole" TWICE:

Oh, honey. Nothing. Nothing can. Things that you might think can:

Food
Sex
Alcohol
A boy or girlfriend
Role-playing games, both in and out of bed
Working too hard
Drugs
Stalking someone because they have the potential of being your "missing piece"
Self-help books
Obsessing journalling

But they cannot. They can temporarily fill a void, but that's not going to help. Also, hi! Thanks for stopping by! And I hope that I was able to, for a minute, "make you whole?" And I suppose, admitting you have a problem is the first step toward recovery? But I'm going to go out on a limb here and suggest that you probably are already pretty ok. Here's something I've learned in my years on this earth: I don't know you, but you seem like a nice Googler, so I'm going to share this with you. Ready?

You might be fucked up, but everyone else is so fucked up, they probably don't even notice.

This rule doesn't hold as true in high school, where everyone points out everyone else's flaws in order to draw attention away from their own, much like a nice hat draws attention away from a huge mole, or something. But in real life? You're probably pretty whole. Society conspires to make us feel like we're not. You're ok. We're all ok. Is this shitty advice? Sorry. Um, I wrote an entry about porn once. Maybe that can make you whole, what the hell do I know.

To the person who came here by searching for "dating blogspot":

I assume you were looking for dating advice? Or were you looking for someone TO date? Well! Now I'm going to assume the latter. Yay! Here is my CV. Wait, you know what CV means, right? If you don't, we're already broken up. I'll just assume you do. I mean, only totally cultured and awesome and sexy individuals would want to date me!

Things I bring to the table:

I hate most people, places and things
I cuss constantly
I never like to go anywhere or do anything fun
I am working all the time so am never available to hang out
I hate the phrase "hang out"
I don't like being touched so probably sex wouldn't be an option, hope that's ok
I have cats that I don't talk to in baby voices but they will always trump you, importance-wise
I hate all sports and you can't watch them in my house
My online friends are more important than you are, too, deal with it
You will never live up to the ideal man I have in my head, so don't even bother, you'll come out lacking
I'm usually in a really bitchy mood, except when I'm sad or manic
I have zero fashion sense, like, I'm embarrassing to take places, I'm so mismatched
I'm very possessive about my stuff, so don't touch anything without written permission

So! When are we going out?

To the person who came here by searching for "love for football":

Listen, I am really sorry about that. I know. The title of my blog is totally misleading. It's not a football reference. I don't know anything ABOUT football. I mean, I know there's a football, and there's something about yards, and touchdowns, but honestly, the only thing I know is it CONSTANTLY runs over into The Amazing Race and I HATE that. I named my blog because of an essay I wrote almost twenty years ago that I'll talk about someday. So yeah, I know, I probably really confused the hell out of you. I'm sorry. Um, here. Touchdown! Hut! Hut! Hail Mary pass! That guy that fought pitbulls that one time and now he plays football again! Better?

To the person who came here via the Montel Williams Wikipedia page:

I honestly don't know what to even say about this. There is no link on that page to my site. I think this is the first time I've mentioned Montel Williams, and unless this is a grand plan by the Montel Williams people to get themselves back into the public eye by somehow linking themselves into people's stats and hoping someone writes a crazy post until almost midnight because they went to see the last Harry Potter movie alone until 10pm and realized son of a BITCH I didn't write a blog post today what the hell am I going to talk about today man that movie made me cry a lot I should go have some water or something because I think I might be dehydrated DAMN YOU ADULT ONSET ADD hey I know! then I think their plan is a little far-fetched. I don't know how you got here, Montel Williams person, honestly. I am as confused as you are. I know nothing about Montel Williams. He has a disease, I think? And used to be like a Jerry Springer-like guy? I think there were paternity tests involved? Sorry. I am of no help. Godspeed in your search for answers, Montel Williams person!

To the person who came here by searching for Eric Stoltz:

Hands off my man, Sally Strumpet.

So, in conclusion, People Who Have Found my Blog Accidentally, welcome! I know you are probably confused; I hope I have helped you on your journey somewhat. If not, well, sorry about that. Except the Montel Williams person. I really just don't know what to say to you.

Love, Me.

(Thank you to my wonderful friend Mer for our conversation about our mutual obsession with stats that led to this post!)