Next Time on House: Dr. Chews Gum While He Amputates Leg

I'm damaged good.  Naturally all women want to hump me.

Search engines, all I have to say is what the hell?  How to you explain that two people searching for "Can Dr. House amputate his leg" and another searching "Why do I chew gum daily" land on my site.  I find it hard to believe that terms like Dr. House's leg has been so underutilized that my page pops up first in Google results.  I don't know if I should be flattered or irritated.  Maybe I should start throwing out random words and see what happens next.

Burbank, California!
Kittens
Old Spice (just cuz I luv the dreamy man your man could smell like man)
The Book of John
Ice Cream Cones

I'll let you know what that brings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 I'm going to introduce you to a new segment of my blog I'd like to call "News that Pisses Me Off (Because It's so Fucking Dumb.)" So without further ado:

News That Pisses Me Off  

(Because it's so fucking dumb)

• First up, Bolton, England where a British whorehouse fitness group is offering a pole dancing class. FOR SEVER YEAR OLD GIRLS!  I understand the way capitalism works.  You make a product, no matter how dumb it is (see truck testicles below) and the consumer will by it, thereby you laugh all the way to the bank.  Now here's what really pisses me off.  It's not the "gym" that is offering the classes.  It's the PARENTS that are allowing their pre-prepubescent innocent girls to attend these classes.  I mean for Gods sake, why don't you just pimp them out of the street for an honest dollar if you want your child to have a career in pole dancing.  That's every pedophiles wet dream come true.  I'm not for Big Brother stepping into peoples lives, but in this cases, I'd be all for it.  Do these assholes even realize what they are doing to these babies, turning them into sex on a stick when most of them can't ride in a car without a booster seat?  For you parents in Bolton, England--You are sick fuckers!
• Apparently a cop in Bonneau, North Carolina had nothing better to do than to hand out a $445 ticket to a woman who had 'truck nutz/bull balls' hanging off the back of her truck.  Here's the thing, personally I find those things juvenile, disgusting, and frankly, if you have to hang fake beanbags off your truck to prove something, you're overcompensating  (i.e. men who drive fast, red sports cars).  Citing an obscure public decency law, her trial is set for August 1.  If he wants to play fair, what's good for the goose is good for the gander, why doesn't officer jackass pull over semis with naked lady mud flaps.  Oh, that's right.  Because he'd be too scared to do that.  

It's late now, I've finished my rants.  I should finish up a page I've been working on for The Band, but I think I'll make some cinnamon and sugar toast. 

Don't Get Mad, Get Creatively Even

Do you remember watching Sesame Street as a kid hearing the song "Three of these things belong together; three of these things are kind of the same; But one of these things just doesn't belong here?" It was pretty obvious if you were over the age of three what item didn't make sense, like the glass of milk didn't match the three daisies.  

Oh, yes.  You heard me. Wear this with wedding rings.

Yesterday, I came to realize that writing SEO articles for certain clients, the Sesame Street principle applies. I had a client ask me to write an article about 'glow-in-the-dark nail polish' and 'wedding rings.'  In the same 400 word article.  Mind you, this client lives in Slovenia so maybe she doesn't realize that outside of Halloween and the rave club scene, no one besides tennie-boppers wears that shit.  Seriously, I have no fashion sense, nor do I give a shit about fashion opinion, but I will never wear glow-on-the-dark nail polish to my wedding.

Here's the thing.  Writing SEO is not my first choice of work.  I would love to write humor columns for on-line sites or articles on single-parenting magazines.  Hell, I'd be happier writing ad copy for Scotts Brand Toilet Paper.  I would love to have to ability to turn down work based on the fact that I have a full client list and have work scheduled out three months in advance.  But that hasn't happened yet.  And until I can make some better connections, I'm stuck writing on shitty subjects.

This particular client I dropped like a sack of rotten potatoes today.  Seems that she was doing some false advertizing.  When your job posting says you'll be paying $750-$1500 a month for articles because you are looking for high quality writers as you've been unhappy with previous writers, please honor that.  Don't be surprised when I fly off the fucking handle when I write 3 trial articles and you send me 3 fucking dollars over Paypal.  So when you write back that most of your writers are paid 80 cents for an article and that you are doing me a favor, don't be surprised when I give you a poor rating on your feedback.

And believe me, when it comes to your rating score, don't be surprised when your profile is banned from the website for false advertizing.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna munch on a handful of antacids.

I'm With the Band and I Rock At Life

So I did a little dance today.  Actually, it was a dance that I preformed several different times in front of several different family members.  It included a flying Superman dive onto my parents bed while my mom talked with her BFF. 

See the other day, I decided to put myself out on the line.  I sent an email over Linked In to Rebecca 'Aunt Becky' Harks and asked if I could be an editor at a group blog she started up after delivering her third child, who suffered from a neural tube defect at birth, realized, with the help of her amazing Band of Merry Pranksters, a need in the blog world for a place where we could all come to put our thoughts down.

She replied that she didn't need an editor, but she wanted me to join the brains behind the band.  MAJOR YEA!!!! 

I am so happy and beside myself I want to dance a lot more than I am right now.  No money changes hands but it's major boost for my portfolio.  Plus, when (not if, but WHEN) I get my novel finished (please God, by the end of the year) I'll have a much larger audience to work with.  I feel like I got a great big hug today.

So now I am going to learn to juggle SEO articles, DZI, the Twitter, this blog, and whatever I'll be doing over at BBT.  And I couldn't be happier!

Band Back Together strives to provide a safe and supportive space on the internet where anyone in need can find support, resources, catharsis, healing and/or hope by connecting with the blogging community through writing.

Part II: Because Cancer is Bull$#*%

( If you don't understand this post, go to Cancer is Bullshit Part I).  Brendan is having surgery today following 5 rounds of chemo.  It has really rocked his system, but he's stayed positive through this ordeal.  Please keep him in your prayers that the doctors can remove this cancer without having to amputate his leg.

Big Momma Would've Been Proud

Since I'm writing for Assocaitaed Content again, I'm hoping to expand my audience and gain more clients.  Business has been slow and I'm trying to rally.  I was assigned to write a short fictional piece, so I based my story on a fictionalized event from my Gonga's life.  For instance,  Big Momma was actually the name of my great-great-great Grandmother Orbie Johnson, and it was a steak knife, not an icepick.

Enjoy!

As I trod barefoot across the worn wooden floor, I bent down to pick up the discarded tissues that lay scattered. My friend Judy sat cross-legged on a worn couch, wrapped in a multi-colored afghan despite the sweltering mid-day Georgia heat. Half packed boxes filled with stacks of framed pictures awaited packing peanuts and bubble wrap. A bookshelf of dog-eared romance novels had been pushed aside to reveal a small hole in the wall. Curious but respectful of Judy's present anguish I squelched my desire to look inside.

"Judy, I'm so sorry Big Momma died. I know you've heard that so many times already, so I won't try to offer you any false comfort. Death stinks and right now is a rotten time, but I'm here to help you. We've got to get this place packed up and cleared out by the end of the week before the condo association changes the locks on your Grandma's place." 

Sighing, Judy cast off the afghan and stood up. "Thanks for coming. I just can't motivate myself to finalize anything. I get a box half packed and then I find something of hers that makes me cry. I know once I seal these boxes shut, I have to admit that she's gone. I can't pretend that she's in the kitchen frying chicken."

"I know dear. Loosing my Grandma last year was difficult and I was fortunate to have the nursing staff handle all her affects. I wish you had that, but since you don't I'll do what I can to make this easier."

Determined to move Judy into action, I tossed a tissue at her. "Come on. Big Momma wouldn't want you crying. She'd be telling you to put on some makeup and go buy drinks for the cute guy at the bar. Here's a box."
 
For the next three hours we packed pictures, dusty figurines, and assorted knickknacks into stiff cardboard boxes. I would run the tape dispenser across the top while Judy looked away. We talked about friends we grew up with, gossiped about the local beauty queens affair with the town mayor, occasionally reminiscing about Big Momma. When we arrived at the bookshelf I couldn't contain my curiosity any longer.

"Judy, why on earth is there a hole in the wall behind the bookshelf?"

She began to laugh, the first time in days. "Big Momma hid an ice pick in there so the cops wouldn't find it."  

If you want to find out why Big Momma hid an icepick in the wall, follow this link to read the remainder of the article.