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I May Be a Cheater – But I Blame 9

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I have a confession and I hope it doesn’t affect how you feel about me.  There is no easy way to say this so I’ll just blurt it out.  I’m a cheat.   Perhaps if you let me explain, you will understand my motives.  Once you understand my motives, perhaps you won’t think ill of me.  Or, maybe you will.  Or maybe you won’t care.

It all started on March 24 when I received my all-time highest views to my blog.  Which is good and I appreciated the recognition.  The number ended with a 9 though.  A nine?  I only needed 1 more view to have a lovely 0 stat.  But I was happy with the achievement and I could live with the nine.  After all, how long could it take to beat that?

In September the ugly nine still haunted me though.  It had become a mean number since March and now mocked me.  “You will never get rid of me.  I am your all-time highest number and I’m only 1 away from a 0.  Ha, ha, sucker!”  I told you it was mean.

My OCD surfaced.  I resorted to desperate measures.  I posted a blog about it.  I even begged on Facebook.  Nothing worked.  I would get close but I just couldn’t pass the nine.

For some reason, some citizens of the fine country of Belgium (no, I’ve never been there but obviously they have good taste) became interested in one of my blog posts.  I have no idea why it became so popular for the Belgians for a short time but I like to think perhaps some class at a university was studying it.  Hopefully, they weren’t using it as a “bad example” of writing.  That would make me cry and I’d have to label all Belgians mean as nines.  Since I’ll never know for sure, I’ll go with the scenario they were studying a “fine example of American writing.”

On September 28 I had an exceptional day.  At 10:00pm I was only 13 views away from breaking my record and achieving a 0.  Finally, I could say good riddance to nine – and then I’d be happy.  So, I decided to “load the dice.”  It wasn’t an easy decision.  It took me a whole 15 seconds to decide to be dishonest.  Here’s my rationalization: in the early days of my blog, I used to sign in once a day.  Just so that my stats had one little blip.  This wasn’t that much different.  I mean, it’s not as if anyone else would ever see my stat page.  I’m the only one who had to endure nine’s bullying day after day.  Stoic as I am (minus the begging, that is) it was time to take matters into my own hands.

I borrowed a computer (just in case any WordPress police monitor questionable stats and call me in for questioning.  That would be awkward).  With disturbingly little hesitation, I typed my blog’s address in the address bar.  And then I did it again.  I counted out loud to make sure I didn’t make a mistake.  This was a very serious operation.  When I counted 13 I logged into my stat page.  There was a beautiful, lovely 0. I achieved my (kind of dishonest) goal.  But I could live with it because now I had a whole number to greet me every day.

Then I logged out.  Did you know, that when you log out of WordPress it takes you to your blog?  And it counts it as a view?  Yeah, I didn’t either.  My number became 1.  A one?  That’s just as bad a 9!

What else could I do?  I viewed my page 4 more times because as anyone knows a 5 is much better than a 1. Before I went to bed, I looked at my stat page one more time.  It was 11:58pm and the number would be final.  However, someone from Korea (bless his or her heart) viewed my web page.  My all-time highest number is now an upside down 9.  But I can live with a 6.  For now.

One Question

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Hey Buddy, I don’t know you, we’ve never met.  But it looks like this is not your best day.  I’m in my car and I see you walking over the overpass.  Since you are on the side without the sidewalk I’m guessing you are a defiant one.  Or too lazy to cross the street.  If I have to guess – which I do – I’d say you’re not more than twenty.  Your long denim shorts look kind of gangsta in a small town, redneck sort of way.  Judging by your not-so white shirt it looks like it’s time for you to learn how to do some laundry.  It’s not that hard.  The cast on your arm from wrist to elbow adds an interesting aspect to your story.  I’m just not sure what it is.  And then there’s the bag.  You’re carrying a garbage bag full of something.   This all leads me to one question, “Dude, what is in the garbage bag?”

But I’ve passed you and you have disappeared from my rearview mirror.  I will never get to ask.  Darn.

Wendy’s Friends

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Watch this first or else the rest won’t make any sense.

The group couldn’t all fit into one car, of course.  In the Wendy-less car the following conversation took place:

“All right, who invited Wendy?”

“I don’t think anyone did.  She just popped up out of nowhere as usual.”

“I told you to not let her know we were getting together today.”

“I’m sorry, I know I’m new to the group, but what’s wrong with Wendy?  She seemed nice.”

“She is nice.  She just has a one-track mind.  No matter what we do or plan to do we always end up getting fast food when she’s around.  It started innocently enough.  But then we noticed, she always navigates us to the same place.  It’s as if she has a stake in it or something.”

 “The worst part is we feel like we’re in some sort of commercial whenever she’s around.”

“I vote for an intervention!”

“Seriously.  She needs to get a hobby.  Other than fast food.”

“You gonna tell her that?”

“No, because she’ll make us talk about it over a burger.”

 

Friday Fish Tale

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The other day I had a meeting with the Quality Assurance team.  It was one of those highly-important kind of meetings that I get invited to so that I can take notes.  This means, I need to pay attention.  Which, as any regular reader to this blog knows, is not my strong suit.   I mean, just look at my cover picture.  It’s a little girl wandering aimlessly on the beach.  No sir, focus and attention is not a strength of mine.   But the good news is I can only improve.  So, that’s good.

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The Line of Disbelief

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There is a line for us.  A line we just will not cross.  It is the line of disbelief.   The line is at varying lengths depending on the individual.  For example, I think my dad’s line is just barely past his nose.  If we put in a movie with any green guys or ugly monsters, it’s a safe bet he’s out of there.  My sister NJ’s is a little farther out but she reached it the other night.

We were watching Lois and Clark.  What?  I already confessed I watch it on Sunday evenings.  Anyway, we watched Lois and Clark, the New Adventures of Superman.  She giggled.  “This episode is just silly.”

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J’s Story

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Have you ever been told something that you’re not quite sure if it’s true?  Ever?  Years later you still retell the story (because it is a good story) and there’s always an edge of doubt to your voice.  You are always compelled to attach a disclaimer with the events just in case the audience won’t believe you.  Then you can say, “Yeah, I don’t think it could happen either,” and not sound so gullible.  It happens to me quite a bit.

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Arachnids and Me

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I live in the high-desert mountains of Wyoming.  This means I have plenty of uninvited guests sneak into my home because my home is built right on top of theirs.  Spiders are frequent intruders and I am constantly killing reminding them to stay out.

The other day I found a web connected to the toilet.  Okay, no way am I going to let a cobweb be connected to something I use at my most vulnerable moments.  Or to sensitive areas that I really don’t want to get bit.  I got rid of it immediately.

One morning I woke up and went to do my normal morning routine.  As I stumbled out of my bedroom I walked through a silvery, kind of sticky substance.  One industrious spider had spent the night spinning a web in my doorway.

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