Posts Tagged ‘humor’

Dear Myspace,

I’m sorry to say that I think it’s over. I’ve left you for another social network. Stop crying; it’s okay. Your heart will go on. And on. You see, lately I’ve forgotten to come and visit you. I just don’t even think about you anymore. My other social network has fulfilled me in ways you never could. It’s a network where the cool kids hang. You know, the ones that like the fact that they are no longer in junior high?

I just couldn’t take your large graphics, constant surveys on who I “have a crush on”, gaudy sparklies, and, well, your Tom anymore. It’s just not my bag, baby. What? You think this is sudden? Oh, honey, it’s been a long time coming. You’re just dense, Myspace. Dense or deaf. My maniacal screams through the monitor were not getting through that thick skull of yours. Or was it the awful, automatically playing music keeping my pleas from reaching your ears? I know how to push a play button, Myspace. Don’t patronize me.

I just don’t find you mentally stimulating anymore. Actually, I never did. I faked it. Pretending to enjoy my time with you, I tried leaving comments and picking mildly classy layouts. But I was never really into it. The entire time I was daydreaming about a day when I could enjoy social networking again. Well, my time has come.

Sorry, Myspace. I’m leaving you for Facebook. Yes, Facebook. You read that right. Where grownups go to interact with their weird international friends who add extra vowels where vowels are not needed. Where we create secret groups and spend entirely too much time debating the fine nuances of items such as knitted baby hats. Where we are free to post strange status updates voicing our random mindless drivel and comment on them, endlessly chatting about the intricacies of the finer things in life such as toe hair, wall hangy thingies from Michaels, and chocolate. But not together. Because that doesn’t even make sense. But I digress. Stop distracting me; that’s not helping your case.

My point, Myspace: it’s over. We’re through. Kaput. I am no longer one of your peeps. I’ve grown up and branched out and have no more use for you. So please stop sending me emails from people I do not know who think I’m hot and want to be my friend. I’m really not that cool. They just think I am. But hey, I kind of think I am too, which is why I must call us quits.

Goodbye, Myspace. Goodbye.

(Or: “See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya!”)

(But no, I’m much too classy for that kind of talk.)

(See what kind of bad influence you are? Shame on you, Myspace. Shame.)

Sincerely,
Crystal

… to the weirdos.

I don’t know how or why, but my blog attracts the strangest traffic. Each week brings me new laughs when I check my Google Analytics stats. It never gets old! Here’s what has brought hits to my blog in the past couple weeks. I promise, these stats are for real. No words have been changed to protect the non-innocent.

“how to get my husband to adore me” - I’m so glad you asked. First, you must demand chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate. Men like to be bossed around, you know, buying tons of chocolate for their damsels in PMS distress. Next, you feed him lots of healthy stuff that he hates, like spinach and lentils and fish oil that’s supposed to taste like pudding. Finally, make sure to leave many annoying comments on his blog. Husbands LOVE this. Wait, what? That will never work, you say? Mwahahahaha! Oh, but it does. Right, hon?

“how big is a mol” – perhaps a better question might be WHAT is a mol?

“find your soul song” – Hurry up soul, find it already!

“breast cancer awareness wah pedal” - Ok, now I don’t think I’ve ever blogged about a wah-wah pedal. I totally should though. Wah-wah pedals are awesome. I don’t have one, but it sure would be fun. Show of hands: who knew Crystal owns an electric guitar? Oh yes, I do! A gorgeous shiny one. I should take a picture. It sure would look even prettier with a wah-wah pedal, though I think a pink one might clash.

“do you want fries with that song” - I generally prefer my songs to be trans-fat free, thanks. Oh, what the heck? Sure, I’ll take a small fry. Extra ketchup, please.

“crystal+blogspot” – I am the Crystal on blogspot?! I’m so glad you found me. *Whew!*

“making a meal out of a mole hole” - Thank you so much for ruining what little appetite I had left… never mind on those fries. You are so disturbing.

“a soul would have one mol” – Again with the mol?

“how to pronounce humuhumukununukuapua’a” – I wish I knew, but alas, I do not. I shall defer you to my father, expert in all things Hawaiian pig-nosed fish.

“why athletic shorts smell when i go outside” – Ummmm… perhaps a better question would be why did they invent showers?

“orange rotting fruit” – I have some rotting potatoes. Will that suffice?

“my life with this finger that song my soul” – The soul of mol that is be with toe.

“whats that song that goes butt naked sitting on the bathroom floor” – The song loves the American people. It did not go butt naked sitting on that bathroom floor.

I feel so dirty now. And very not hungry.

If you use Gmail, you’re probably all too familiar with those “web clip” advertisement links that appear in that little line above your emails. Now usually they seem to pick up keywords from the emails themselves. Targeted advertisements? I don’t know.

The other night though, I saw this headline:

I couldn’t tell ya, but apparently someone thinks my blog is the mole guru. Oh yes. It’s another crazy Google keywords post. I mean, what else should I blog about? I’ve been trying to think of a topic for a week now. I’ve been a horrible blogger.

Sure, I could bore you with adoption stuff or jewelry stuff or how we were five minutes away from calling the police on Saturday and reporting a stolen truck, but isn’t Google so much more entertaining? Ok maybe not, but Dustin stole my blog topic. So here we are, and here are a few of the many crazy keywords that have brought people to my blog in the past few weeks. Enjoy!

“shagadelic song” – Yeah, baby!

“how do i find a song if i know some words” – Well you certainly wouldn’t type the words into Google… nope, that would be a total waste of time!

“all dreams have died” – Word.

“chain maille jokes” – You all know I love chain maille. But is it funny? Is it? Do you laugh at the chain maille? “Why did the Jens Pind cross the road?” That really is not working for me. Sorry.

“humuhumukununukuapua’a song” – humuhuha-huh? I think that’s the Hawaiian pig nosed fish or something. Can Hawaiian pig nosed fish sing? Do they mount them on the wall and sell them online to people who enjoy tacky decor? *gasp* Are pig nosed fish really rednecks in disguise?!

“can i paint over shiny brass trim” – Oh, no. No no no! It’s better if you end the relationship right here and now with a clean break and just rip out the fake, shiny fake brass stuff and replace it with nice brushed nickel. Just do it. DO IT. You’ll thank me later. I promise.

“again and again before for me you metal” – Uuhhhhhh… riiiiiiight.

“the cutest earrings ever” – Can be found here.

“i have got soul but i am not solder” – Oh thank goodness! If my solder started talking to the Google, about its soul and stuff, I might get all scared. And then send it to the eternal firey pit of my torch flame.

“soul eat” – Eat, soul, eat. Eat now! Chicken soup, anyone?

“my mole is hanging off” – Dagnabit people, didn’t we cover this last time?! What is it with you googlers trying to rip off your moles?!

“my soul is like a mole” – Is it hanging off? How big is its hole? Is it solder? Can I melt it? Is it hungry?

“i want to know how to spend the song in my decument” – Decument? Spend the song? In your decument? Crazy googler say whut? That is just so many levels of wrong. I’m speechless. Well, almost, anyway. Or not at all, really. But stating you’re speechless implies – like no other phrase can – that a deep level of stunning stupidity has been unfortunately thrust upon your day. And that, dear bloggy friends, is exactly what has happened here. So you’ll pardon my speechless-lessness, I’m sure. It’s been a long week.

We’ve had this little portable dog crate since Trixie was a puppy. It was the perfect size for her for most of her life, and then it became the perfect size for Molly when we got her. We have a second crate, a larger wire one, that we can use for Trixie alone or even for both of them.

They’re both crate trained, but we don’t use it in that capacity very often anymore. We use them for travel and leave them open because for some strange reason they like chilling out in there sometimes. Once in a while, when I tell them to go “to bed” when I’m about to leave the house for an errand (I’d trust Trixie to have the run of the house, but not Molly, and it’s easier to confine both instead of just one) they’ll both run to their crates instead of their nice cushy beds we have for them next to their water & food bowls, in the laundry room (which we confine them to with a dog gate at night and when we leave the house). They’re weird little dogs. Sometimes they’ll both run into the same crate… ALWAYS the small one. I guess they like to cuddle.

Yesterday we emptied the office where their crates usually reside, so we could rip out the carpet and start laying down the new flooring. We put the large crate away in the garage for now, but left the small one out in the living room temporarily because Molly can be a little reclusive and likes to hide out in her crate when she gets nervous. We didn’t want to stress her out too much.

Today, we found Trixie curled up in the small crate. This is what happened when she tried to come out. (I have no idea how my socks ended up there, by the way. That’s probably thanks to Miss Molly…)

The funniest part is this was not the first time today that this happened. Only the first time, she ran in place for several seconds before actually emerging. It was hilarious. Silly dog.

Don’t ask.

Just don’t ask.

I nearly woke my sleeping husband just now laughing out loud.

Keyword that linked to my blog this week:

“how to install a bathroom doorknob”

To whoever is looking for advice on this topic here on song of my soul… be afraid. Be very, very afraid. (And clothed. Very, very clothed.)

Thanks, Google. Your pagerank might have pooped on me, but you’re always good for a laugh.

Or, not so much.

I’m a bit miffed at Google at the moment. For some reason, my blog had a page rank of 4/10, and now it is 0/10. What the yahoo?! I thought it was a fluke at first, but it’s been like this for a couple weeks now. I don’t think I have been blacklisted, because, I mean, why? I haven’t done anything Google-illegal.

My pages are still indexed. So… Google, not liking you too much right now. With those stats, I might as well start over with a whole new blog and my own domain. I was thinking about it and the main thing keeping me from it is losing my Google pagerank that took me two friggin years to get. *growl*

The one good thing Google is good for right now is a laugh. I use their Analytics thingamabop to track information on my blog and website. It comes in quite handy. I can see where people are from, what websites referred them here, and how long they stayed. But none of this is quite so entertaining as looking up the keyword searches that bring some people here.

“i hate teeth” - yeah? Me too! Or at least I hate my teeth. Though I must admit they do come in handy.

“easy mac white powder” - I have a feeling that this person was looking for confirmation that the white powder in his/her easy mac was not anthrax. Sorry I can neither confirm nor deny such matters. I can confirm, however, that easy mac is gross and not fit for human consumption, and that Annie’s Mac & Cheese is the good stuff.

“funny description of tiny bathroom” - Oookay.

“i am a popular cheerleader” – Not so much!

“i fumble my words when i speak” – I, umm, uhh, errrr… but, you know… it’s umm… yeah.

“how to choose my song before singing” – Glad to be of service!

“because you was a part of me because you was a part of my sole” – *blink, blink*

“acupuncture bruise afterwards” – Been there, done that.

“guess earrings” – Is Guess even still around? That is oh, so 90′s.

“i call my soul” – I hope she answered.

“i gave you my soul, find song” – Find it, Google, find it now!

“i love my birthmark but the mole may be cancerous” – My blog can neither confirm nor deny this. Please seek medical attention.

“is ripping off moles safe” – My blog can neither confirm nor deny this. Please seek medical attention. And maybe some psychological help would be a good idea too.

“is it cool to have two earrings” – Why, yes. Yes it is. And you’re in luck. My earrings come in pairs! Woo!

“meaning of a white elephant as a lawn ornament” - It means the British are coming. One if by land, two if by sea. Come on, people, watch your HGTV.

“soul is a four letter word” - Thank you, Mr. Obvious.

“crystal” – That’s me!

My blog attracts some interesting attention. Eat that, Google, and shove it up your PageRank. (That sounds so nasty, yet makes so little sense.)

What interesting things have brought people to your site or blog?

After being married for almost eight years, I just learned that my husband was a member of a bell choir when he was a teen. Yes, a bell choir. You know, those people that ring bells. White gloves and all. I said that bell choirs have got to be the cheesiest of all “musicians”. (Love you hon!) He played the huge ones. The ones that go “bong!” rather than “ding” or “dong“. He said it’s not easy playing those big bells. I said it’s a wee bit, I don’t know, wimpy? Now lest you think my man is a “musician” rather than a musician, let me set you straight. The man’s got talent. He can play acoustic guitar, bass guitar, drums, a little piano, and can sing (and DJ). These are all hawt qualities in a man.

Bell choir? Not so much.

But here’s the kicker, people. He joined this bell choir… for a girl.

Ah yes, because nothing says “Do you love me? Check yes or no!” quite so effectively as cheesy white gloves and big brass bells that go “bong!“.

Last year I learned that he can throw pottery (strangely, also hawt).

Three years ago, he finally told me he does not like turkey lunch meat after the poor man ate countless turkey lunch meat sandwiches I made for him (and still does, bless his soul).

While we were watching America’s Got Talent last week, I learned that he knows entirely way too much about Riverdance. Riverdance! I still don’t know why. I’m not sure I want to.

We’re proof positive that even when you’ve been married almost a decade and know each other better than you know yourselves, marriage can still be interesting.

Now I really want a kiln and pottery wheel.

“Bong!”

… and sometimes I just feel like an idiot.

Today was Father’s Day, and of course being the good little daughter that I have always been (STOP LAUGHING) I braved the outdoors (with my husband) (in my new car – more on that later) to buy my daddy a gift.

My dad likes fishing and he likes reading. I’m sure there are other things he enjoys, but these seem to be two of his favorite things, because he has expressed extreme gratitude at the bookstore and fishing store gift cards we have given him in the past. I’m sure he’s figured out by now that this is probably what he will be getting forever. Or at least until he is no longer able to fish and read. I’m sure he’s thrilled about this (the gift card thing, not the not being able to fish and read anymore thing… as if you needed that particular clarification). I’m sure he’s reading this now saying, “Yes!” and doing the Still A Cool Dad Even Though I’m Old arm thing that always accompanies an enthusiastic “Yes!”. You know the one. Don’t make me show you.

He got a bookstore card for his recent birthday, so it was the fishing store’s turn. We drove out to the store, purchased the card (and a cute little microfiber lens cleaning cloth for my glasses because I have one that I love and I want a second one for my purse) and left, heading to Home Depot – hehehe! - (sorry, if you’re not Dustin you won’t get that, and that’s ok… just walk to the nearest corner, curl up into a ball and scream “WHY!???!” for a while and you’ll feel all better. I promise.) to get a scraper thing to remove the massive quantities of glue on my floor (again, more on that later), some knee pads, and a box cutter.

We went to a couple more places to get the rest of his gift (framed close-ups of his grand-fur-kids… yes, we are a weird family) and a card. And chocolate. Because we almost never leave the house without buying chocolate. People only love me when I have chocolate in my house. And I sort of have the bad habit of eating it all myself (and yet somehow, I still don’t gain weight – though I DO have two root canals… go figure…).

We came home and I started to straighten up. I broke the vacuum cleaner vacuuming up nails and concrete bits and large amounts of dust (one more time… more on that later). Dustin fixed it. He’s awesome (just ask him – he’ll tell you so). Knowing my parents were due to come over for dinner in 20 minutes, I decided it was high time to prepare dad’s gift.

I framed the photos. I signed the card. I would have put the gift card into the greeting card, only it was nowhere to be found. When we came inside, I put all the bags on the kitchen table. Fishing store bag was not there. I checked high and low. Not in the car. Not in the trash. Not in the big trashcan outside inside the nasty kitchen trash bag I just thew out. Not ANYwhere.

I panicked (I mean, ‘spensive gift card, you know?) then called the fishing store to ask them if maybe we left it there on the counter. It was not there, but since I had been given the receipt separately and stuck it in my purse, they were able to retrieve the info for the card and cancel it in case it was lost and/or stolen. They activated a new one for us and had it waiting in their safe, ready for us to pick up at anytime. Nice fishing store. I’ll shop there again. (Dad: “Yes!”)

By this time, my parents arrived and I gave what was left of the gift to my dad. Unwrapped. Because not only did I lose his main gift, I also forgot to buy a bag to put it in.

Food was ordered. Dad and Dustin left to go pick it up (and the gift card). Less than 5 minutes after they left, Dustin called me.

The gift card was in the glove box.

Oh well. At least the close-ups of the grand-fur-kids were a hit.

Almond Joy, anyone?