I bought my car last September. A cute Toyota RAV 4 that I coveted for a long time. Promptly upon leaving the car lot (and signing my life away) I christened is Trevor. Yeah, Trevor the Toyota RAV 4. It doesn’t quite roll off the tongue like Felix the Ford Explorer, but it is clever enough for me. And wrong. It should have been dubbed Christine – as if in, Stephen King’s horror story of a possessed car.
When I test drove it, I put it through all the normal routines.
√ Made it up the belt route while exceeding the speed limit (meaning horsepower is decent)
√ Power windows worked pushing the down and then the up button (former car story)
I have never been what you would call a brave person. Most of my life I’ve been plagued by fears, some valid, a lot irrational. As I’ve gotten older, most have tapered off. I’ve been able to face some previous worries and stare them down. Though I will never consider myself a courageous person, I can at least handle most qualms when they arise but maybe not always willingly. I usually deal with uncertainties or ignore them completely. The other night I was home alone and had just crawled into bed when I heard an eerie scratching noise. My only thought was, if burglars are breaking in to the house, I hope they keep it down so that I can sleep. And I promptly fell asleep. (Rest assured no one broke into my house; it was the east wind rubbing a stray branch against the house).
This is the long awaited story of how I finally achieved my 30 likes on my ck’s days Facebook page. What? It is possible that somebody out there has been waiting for this. At any rate, the story starts in November when I became tired of seeing the little message on the top of my page every time I logged in.
It intrigued me. What insights would 30 likes unlock? It reminded me of Super Mario Brothers. Just because that’s the last video game I ever played. If I achieved my thirty likes would I save the princess? I never really got that far in the actual game. Oh, this game was so on like Donkey Kong… or, well, Super Mario Bros!
Let me just say, my dad worked for over 50 years as a salesman. I did not receive any of those genes. In fact, I hate selling anything – especially myself. My motto is, to each his own. But if I wanted to perk up my flat line of 12 likes, I had to step it up.
Up till the time I started on my quest, I labored under the delusion of being witty and writing quality posts. The little voice in my head had me convinced my audience was just small in number. That’s why I only received a few likes per status (or worse none. Obviously, I posted those at the wrong time of day though. Otherwise, who wouldn’t like my blog posts?!) I just knew I was an undiscovered genius.
I stayed at 12.
Every once in awhile, I’d get brave and advertise on my wall. By advertise, I mean beg. “Check out my Facebook page…”
I spiked to 15. Oooh, halfway there!
Then my friend deleted her Facebook account and I dropped to 14. Dang me! That was the wrong direction. What if I lost the other 14? Then I’d have to start all over. Nope, I could not let that happen.
I decided I had too much of a presence on Facebook. Instead of posting to my regular wall, I thought it would be more beneficial to post more to my fan page. And it’s kind of nice because I have a certain amount of anonymity with ck’s days. Sure, I have a picture on it but it’s a glam photo so nobody recognizes me. I save my personal wall for, well, more personal posts (as personal as one can get on a social media site anyway).
I also started my Friday memes. Sometimes I’d get a devil-may-care attitude and post them to my personal wall. Usually with the status that went, “Please like.” So, of course, people liked my status not my page.
I told you, I’m not a salesperson.
I became discouraged and decided to be content with 14. But that message about the perks of 30 likes continued to taunt me. I’d have fits of bravery and advertise (beg) on my personal wall. After a few months, I spiked to 20 likes. They were probably pity likes but surprisingly, I’m okay with that. The increase gave me the courage to do a full on blitz. Well, a full on ck blitz. I invited 10 friends to like my page. Three accepted. Through my tears I decided not to take it personal. No, I didn’t really cry – but I did wonder, “What the hey?”
I continued to post my memes on Friday and an occasional post on my personal wall. The closer I got to thirty likes the more I wanted to see what it would unlock. Then I would be happy.
The number increased to 28 and stopped. Seriously? Then 29. Oh, c’mon!
One final plea
Last Wednesday I received my 30th like (and not one like more). This means if anybody decides to unlike my page – I will know. And I will know who it is. And that person will receive no small amount of dirty looks from me.
As for the insights unlocked? I have no problem divulging the secret if that will prevent one person going through what I went through.
I now have access to how many friends my posts “reach.”
There are three kinds of reaches: organic, paid, and viral. It unlocked access to the insights – it didn’t explain them. Yeah, I had to Google it to figure it all out.
An organic reach is when someone who liked my page sees my post. Either on my wall or the ticker.
A viral reach is when someone sees the post because someone else liked or commented on it. It could be a friend of a friend.
I don’t worry about the paid reach because it doesn’t apply to me.
With this handy-dandy information, I can now tell 26 people see a particular post and 2 like it. That’s less than 10%. In the words of my friend JJ, “Well, poop.” That happiness was short-lived. The delusion of being an undiscovered genius is pretty much popped.
Remember a few weeks ago when I complained about having the ugly number 9 as my stat? And how I begged for viewers just to get one more and make my stat end with a lovely 0? And remember I achieved that goal? (okay, I had to cheat be creative to do it but it was worth it and I still don’t regret it). And remember how I said I was happy then? Well, something has come up. I have another situation that is bugging me. Don’t worry, the stats are fine. True, 6 is no 0 but it’s no 9 either. I’m fine with my highest all-time view stat ending in 6. The trouble is with my Facebook page.
I started a ck’s days Facebook page just out of curiosity. I thought it would be fun. However, I’m horrible at networking. After all, I only have (gasp) one hundred friends on my regular page. I know, I know. I feel like the modern equivalent of a leper. But I like the small numbers. The purpose of Facebook for me is to actually keep up with old friends. And new friends. I don’t see how I could do that with 400+ friends that I don’t even remember. Or know. Or could care less what they are doing. It would lose all its viral faux-intimacy. For me anyway.
Anyway, I started a ck’s days Facebook page. Since I only had one hundred friends to begin with on my regular page I have a total of 12 likes for my page. Don’t laugh. I’m serious. And I’m okay with that. I really am.
Except for the fact there’s this notice on the page that tells me if I have 30 likes then I can gain access to insights regarding my page. Gain access? And what kind of insights are we talking about here? Are they cool insights? Will it tell me how many people view my page and if it’s worth it to keep? Or are the insights more personal, kind of like a Magic 8 Ball that will tell me how I can make $1,000,000 in the near future? I am so curious that I now want 30 likes just to see what it will unlock.
I have been posting all my updates as ck’s days and nothing. Not one extra like. I’m being a trooper and telling myself it doesn’t matter. But c’mon, in this day and age validation is in the like. I’m not begging though. Well, maybe I am a little bit. See, once I get my 30 likes then I will be happy. Then I will be satisfied. Then I won’t have to beg. For a while anyway. Because as Patricia tells Joe, “It’s always going to be something with you, isn’t it?” (Joe Versus the Volcano, 1990). Um, yep, pretty much.
They were a group of girls. Young compared to me. The oldest had been in college for a mere two years, the rest were freshman age. They were discussing naming their future children and I was eavesdropping.
“I will not give my child a common name,” one declared. “I had to be Casey C. in every class because there was always another Casey.” The others nodded their heads knowingly.
My neighborhood sits on some prime real estate. This is only my opinion, of course, but let me share with you my observations. We have been in the middle – bystanders – to some turf wars the past few years.
It all started with the indigenous gopher tribe. We live in a desert so this makes sense. Not familiar with gophers? They are a skittish lot. A species that does not know how to relax. It seems their lot in life is to flit about like a group of nervous Nellies. I swear they have a store of coffee in their underground tunnels. The Java Joe Go’s also let out a nervous whistle from time to time. A high pitched, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” echoes throughout the neighborhood.
I saw this photo on MSN photos Friday while at work. The little blurb that accompanied it said something along the lines of a giraffe traveling 900 miles. I swear that’s it. No, I can’t prove it.
This is my train of thought: “That giraffe is not going to fit in that truck. There’s no way it can be humane to transport it like that. Surely, there is an opening in the top of the truck for it to poke its head out.” The timing of that last thought was unfortunate. The trailer for Hangover 3 had just finished inundating commercial breaks for weeks. Perhaps you’ve seen it, too? It involved a giraffe, a vehicle, and an underpass. Just to be clear, I’ve never watched any of the Hangover movies – nor do I plan to. Just not my thing. But I did see the preview that played almost every single commercial break.
Warning: do not watch the video if you’re at all squeamish. Or a giraffe lover.
In my defense, I tried clicking on the picture to get more of the story but our handy IT team blocked it due to it being classified as “games and recreation.”
So, I couldn’t find out the rest of the story until I got home. I swear, I did not see the word “taxidermy” anywhere in the blurb at work. It’s amazing what you find out when you can see the whole picture and read the whole article.
The giraffe is stuffed folks, nothing to worry about here.
I text my niece, Lyn, on Friday night and asked when her mom, MZ, and her were coming to town. She replied Sunday morning. So, I put off cleaning and ironing and went for a walk. When I returned an hour later, we had a houseful including MZ and Lyn. We Lees like to sneak. Usually we’re not very good at it so kudos to them. Also waiting at the house were two of my other nieces, Jo-T and Bubba and Bubba’s fiancé SS. Have I mentioned Bubba is getting married? More on that later.
Unfortunately, they came to an unclean and kind of gross house. That’s a little embarrassing. And I never did get around to doing the ironing.
The next day, we played in the Green River for an hour. Well, they played. I took pictures. The water is really cold and kind of smelly so I opted out of swimming. Plus, I was hanging out with a group of young’uns in swimming suits. Yeah, I’m not going to wear a swimming suit while mingling with that crowd. Ever.
It was a lovely, lazy, summer kind of day. My favorite kind. Until 7:00 when we received a text from Bubba saying they were on their way to the hospital. Jo-T and her were involved in a 4-wheeler accident and bystanders called the ambulance.
She thought her ankle was broken but Jo-T received, “Mild injuries.”
We beat them to the hospital and watched as they were taken out of the ambulance. They were in the garage and we stood outside so they couldn’t see us. Bubba was put in a wheel chair but Jo-T was taken in on a stretcher. My heart dropped. The ER staff wouldn’t let us go back and see them until they were checked in the room.
I paced back and forth. “She’s fine,” Lyn reassured. “You always think the worst.”
Uh, yeah. She’s on a stretcher with a neck brace on. It was not a calming picture.
Their parents were out of town. Happy to report, they are okay with mild injuries and a whole lot of pain. After a couple of hours in the ER they were released. We made sure they were situated for the night.
I text Bubba the next day and asked how she was doing. “OK, just in lots of pain,” she replied.
“You know what’s good for that?” I asked.
“What?” 🙂
“Not have a 4-wheeler roll on top of you.” 🙂 (I’m so funny!)
“Oh yeah! Gosh I wish I would have thought of that ;)”
“It’s a good rule of thumb.” I really don’t know how they manage to get anything done with this resident comedienne keeping them in stitches all the time. Oh, that might have been an inappropriate phrase to use at this time.
Lyn, MZ, and I concluded our Sunday evening by watching George of the Jungle (1997). Hey, don’t judge! There’s a lot of wit behind the cheesiness. The narrator uses all that alliteration and… it’s just good for a giggle, all right?
It’s been awhile since we watched it. When it came to the part where George is in San Francisco and eating everything in Ursula’s apartment, Lyn stated, “There’s no way he could eat all that. It would make him sick.”
“Really? That’s the part you have a problem with?” I asked.
Don’t know what I’m talking about? You should watch it. You know, when you’re in a silly mood and with that one friend that laughs at everything and makes everything funnier. Maybe late at night. It’s good times.
(sigh) The weekend is nearly over. But there’s always a chance my ship will come in today. C’mon, ship!
You know that oft used expression, “Fair to middling?” I’m sure you use it at least once a day. No? Well, you’re an odd duck, aren’t you?
Anyway, it came up during a conversation my office mate had. Possibly with herself because she has been kind of stressed and been prone to ramble at peculiar times lately.
In one of my posts last week, I described my talent of choosing celebrity doppelgangers for the regular folk. And then, on my Facebook page I was put to the test. Some of my FBF’s were curious for me to share my ability. Against my better judgment I gave in and complied. I couldn’t figure out why I was so apprehensive. After all, doing something potentially mean spirited just for the sake of a few laughs has never stopped me before. Then I remembered a few years ago when the role was reversed. And I didn’t appreciate it one iota.
ck's days 