An Open Letter to People Who Find my Blog Accidentally (Volume 19): Part One of Two

Dear People Who Find My Blog Accidentally:

Welcome to January! I totally almost forgot about this post. I’ve had…a month. A month it has been, my dearest darlings. Like, if you were look back on all the months there have been in the history of months, this one can bite me. Twice. Hard. And then I would like to throat-punch it.

Now, I know. Usually, we split this shit up into two posts: this one, and tomorrow’s questiony post. But here’s the scoop: I didn’t have good questions this month. I don’t know why this is. I assume it’s either because a., I already answered all of your questions, so my work here is done, or b., you’re all frozen because it’s so effing cold no one wants to do anything but sit in front of the heater and weep. Or maybe a little of both.

It’s so cold this GUINEA PIG needs a HAT.

However, I had a lot of regular searches. Well, let’s put that in sarcastic air quotes. “Regular” searches. None of my searches are overly “regular,” let’s just be honest here. So many that this post would have been like a month and a half long. Who has time for this? No one. So I’m splitting THIS post up over two days. Because I totally roll with the punches, here at the old Lucy’s Football. What’s that? I don’t roll with the punches and change scares and upsets me and I just…can’t…handle…it? FINE. You know too much. Go sleep with the fishes. SLEEP WITH THE FISHES I SAID. And if you see Nemo say hi. But don’t ask him about his little fin, he’s sensitive about that.

Don’t ask about the fin, I told you. It’s really none of your business.

So, just in case you’re new, let me catch you up on this recurring post.  I’m obsessed with my stats; I like to check what search terms drive people to my blog; then I feel REALLY BAD this isn’t what they were looking for. So I write them a letter of apology (this is the nineteenth one. I’ve been blogging for what seems like a very long time, right? It’s kind of mind-boggling. Search for the others; they’re stellar.) Why do I do this? Oh, you know. Because I’m out of hard liquor and what else are you going to do on a Saturday night, you know?

So I’m going to break you down into categories and address you in groups. As I do. What, you’re not used to that by now? I’ve been doing that for like a YEAR. You can’t even complain about it, it’s not like it’s unprecedented.

Category the First: A thing that is fascinating to people, apparently

facebook people you may know (99)

Yep. You’re reading that right. Ninety-nine people (and a bitch ain’t one) searched and found my blog using this term. Why are you people so fascinated with the “people you may know” feature on Facebook? I mean, it rocks for my stats, but it’s a little perplexing for me. I guess it’s my own fault; I blogged about it once. But the fact that it continues to fascinate you – and there are MORE searches for SIMILAR Facebook things coming up, don’t even think there aren’t – kind of fascinates ME. I think I could write a whole book mocking Facebook and make my millions. Hey, don’t steal my totally good idea, you totally-good-idea-stealers.

Category the Second: Stop. It is the same as the female brain. Promise.

male brain (47)

A while back, I posted (and mocked) a joke cartoon of “the male brain” where it was all “this is the part of the brain that ogles boobs” or whatever. PEOPLE ARE OBSESSED WITH THAT AND KEEP COMING HERE TO FIND IT. Listen, I said it then, I’m saying it now. YOU ARE BEING SEXIST. Our brains are the same. It’s the people WITH the brains that are the problem, yo. If you run all up into an asshole, and you’re like “it’s because his brain is WIRED differently! Because he’s a BOY PERSON!” – NO. It’s because he’s an asshole, and not because his brain is wrong. Well, his brain might be wrong, too, but not because he’s got dangly-parts. Stop it right now, because if you keep that shit up, you’re perpetuating stupid gender stereotypes, and my beloved nephew’s gonna pick up on that shit. And then I’ll come to your house and poke you with a tent pole.

Category the Third: Famous people

spencer reid
is joey greco related to zak bagans

Sigh. SIGH.

I get a lot of Spencer Reid searches. That’s ok, as long as you realize he’s mine and you can’t have him. Also, I like that Joey Greco might be Zak Bagans’ dad. I think that’s a very fine supposition. They’re both totally douchey. Whoever figured that out should probably get some sort of detective award or something, yo.

Category the Fourth: Um. Confusing.

what does a football look like
tumblr sauna
benedict cumberbatch hair color
i am not nephew
stab shoulder bogart
how to hide electrical cords on ceiling
hairstyles with widows peak women wth close hairs
flea market booth setup ideas for pants
12th gorgeous 07/12 i wait
barnum and bailey animal crackers man
facebook people you may know all girls
i am obama smoking marijuana sayings
medicine for sex power which smells like turpentine
condom for secret clip art free

You people keep coming here and asking me what a football looks like. Are you from another country? I am completely confused how you don’t know what a football looks like, and why you don’t just do a Google image search, which is what normal people do when they want to know what a thing looks like.

I don’t know what a Tumblr sauna might be. A Tumblr all about saunas? I guess? Would there be enough sauna photos FOR such a Tumblr? This is perplexing.

Again, I’d think if you did a Google image search, you could find out what color Benedict Cumberbatch’s hair is. He dyes it a lot for whatever project he’s working on, so it changes a lot, is what I discovered. Using Google image search. Which I recommend you also do. Have I drummed that into your head well enough yet? Good, good.

When he’s Sherlock, he’s got dark hair…and then sometimes it’s this color, and sometimes it’s blonde. He’s pretty no matter what.

“I am not nephew.” No. Nor am I. I am, however, niece. And daughter and sister and aunt and granddaughter and cousin and goddaughter and friend. Why are you searching such a thing, I have to wonder?

I don’t even have a guess as to what “stab shoulder Bogart” might be. Are you looking for a movie where Bogie got stabbed in the shoulder, maybe? I don’t know that I’ve seen anything he’s been in but Casablanca, and you’re going to hate me, but I was so so bored during that movie I don’t even remember if he got stabbed or not. I watched it when I was really young, though. Maybe I’d appreciate it more now, I don’t know.

I enjoy that you’re coming to me for home decorating advice. Why do you have electrical cords in your ceiling? I have an idea. Don’t put them up there, then you don’t need to hide them. I WIN! What? You have to have them there? Fine. Maybe…um…hang things from them? I have a lot of things hanging from my ceiling, like a flying frog who’s supposed to keep bad spirits out, and some wind chimes and shit. You could do that, I guess. Add a little flair, people won’t even notice all those cords all over the place, I guess, I don’t know.

I have a widow’s peak? So for a while, I was thinking, maybe I can help with this. But then I got confused by the “wth close hairs” part. What the hell does that mean? I have no idea what’s happening with these search terms. What the hell are close hairs? I don’t think I have those. Whatever they are.

I am apparently the go-to person if you want to set up your pants-selling booth at the flea market. Hmm. How about…you…um…FOLD those pants. And then PUT THEM ON A TABLE. And people will LOOK AT THEM. And then BUY THEM. Listen, it’s a flea market and you’re selling pants, not bongs. You’re not going for the flashy, here. Just put your pants on the table. Someone will buy them. Maybe. I guess. People bought a lot of garbage at that flea market I went to in Florida. It was distressing.

“12th gorgeous 07/12 i wait.” This is like a little code, or maybe a warning, and I’m not quite sure which. Should I be scared? Or maybe it’s a compliment. Are you complimenting me? Aw, thanks, unless you’re threatening me. Or this is a code for something else. My head hurts.

There’s no man in the animal crackers box. If there was, the animals would eat him. Be reasonable. Crap, now I want animal crackers.

Hee, someone made a little diagram. This makes me smile. And look, NO MAN. Because the animals would eat that man. Also, I think the “monkey” is an ape, which will make Andreas angry, and I like the question mark after bear.

Are all the people in your “people you may know” female? Well, that seems like Facebook made a mistake. Or you’re just wishful thinking. Are you just wishful thinking, sir?

Is this a thing? Is “I am Obama smoking marijuana” a thing, because it kind of rhymes? What is wrong with people. Leave the president alone, he has a very hard job and I don’t think he’s toking up to deal with all the pressure. Stop being a weirdo.

“Medicine for sex power which smells like turpentine” is totally my new favorite quote. I’m going to get it on a t-shirt, and I’m going to put it as my Twitter quote and also everywhere else there’s an “about me” section. Are you asking about the song “Love Potion Number 9?” That mentions turpentine. But “sex power” is the funny part here, my sad searchy friend. Do you really need sex power? Do you really? And if you do, do you think typing it in this fashion in a search engine is the way to go?

Secret condoms? Free clip art? WHAT IS HAPPENING WHAT IS HAPPENING? Also, condoms aren’t secret. You can buy ’em at the Rite Aid, yo. No one even looks at you weird anymore, it’s 2013. I think people are just glad you’re wrapping that salami. Especially if you’re that sex power turpentine guy.

Category the Fifth: Pervy people are pervy

cartoon masturbator
fuck a silicone sex doll
blowjobs are pricey funny
latest sexnews
buy pantyhose stolen from laundry

Not a REAL masturbator. A cartoon one. Well, that’s not as deeply disturbing, then. Still DISTURBING, just not as DEEPLY disturbing.

Please don’t have sex with a silicone sex doll. It’s not only sad, it’s kind of gross, and then you have to hose it off.

Is the fact that blowjobs are pricey funny? And I think they’re probably not as pricey as actual sex. I mean, I’m not really up on the menu of prices for prostitution, or anything, but I’d think it would be cheaper for a blowjob than actual sex-sex? And again, I’m not sure that it’s HUMOROUS, per se.

I found this for you. And I am CORRECT. Sex is MORE EXPENSIVE.

Hee, “sexnews.” I like that it’s all one word. I don’t know what the latest sexnews is. I assume it’s that people are having sex, and other people want to stop them from having sex. That’s the way of the world, jellybeans. Always have been, always will be, sadly.

OMG! I KNEW all those pantyhose searches I’ve been getting were pervy! There is a market for stolen pantyhose from the laundromat? GROSS GROSS! Leave my pantyhose alone! (I haven’t had any pantyhose at the laundromat for a while. It’s just too damn cold for skirts these days. My legs would freeze to death.)

Category the Sixth: Annoying

keep calm and booyah

I’m sorry. I know you, the internet, are obsessed with this “keep calm and…” thing. But it annoys me. Because people are using it TOO MUCH. There’s no need for “keep calm and booyah,” you guys. No need at all. Stop it. Also, how did that get you here? I don’t think I’ve ever used any of these phrases until now.

Category the Seventh: Oh, holy hell, what? NO NO NO!!!

witchcraft using clowns
slappy the dummy doll as human

OMG. ZEE OH EMM GEEE. Not only CLOWNS, but WITCHCRAFT using clowns. Can you even IMAGINE such a thing? Thanks for the nightmares tonight, searcher.

SIDE NOTE! Not too long ago, I mentioned that a clown started following me on Twitter? And I freaked out of scaredness? Well, I need to issue a public apology. sj explained that was her friend Le Clown, and he was very nice and I would like his blog. And I was skeptical. Because, well, CLOWN, you guys. But luckily, neither of them would let it go. Come to find out, Le Clown (aka Eric, much as Lucy’s Football is aka Amy) is (as sj SAID he would be: I really never should doubt her, yo) intelligent, funny, and a very, very good writer. And you know what I think about good writers, right? I love them. LOVE. If someone can move me to tears with their writing, I’m one sold kitten. (If you don’t click on anything else, you should click on that link. Because that post? Utter and complete gorgeousness.) Also, it was his birthday yesterday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LE CLOWN! So sometimes – SOMETIMES, I said – clowns are ok. No, seriously. Look at the growth I’ve done in 2013 already, isn’t this grand? Sure it is. I totally made a new friend. And, my apologies for not following you sooner; I’m not an easy woman to win over. Especially when clowns are involved. But you won. (Well, some people consider me a win, some a loss; you’ll have to make that decision yourself, I suppose.) End of lengthy side note-slash-apology. Moving on.

What the hell is “slappy the dummy doll?” OK, because I love you, I researched this. It’s apparently a ventriloquist’s dummy in the Goosebumps series, which I was too old to read as a child. (The kids I babysat used to watch this show on TV and it scared them but they still watched it, which always made me giggle.) Apparently Slappy was evil and rude and carved out of coffin wood and came to life when you read witchy words over him. Well, THAT’S worrisome.

Also, he’s super-creepy. But are there ventriloquist dummies that aren’t? No, I don’t think so.

Category the Eighth: This makes me cry because it’s one of the most beautiful things ever. Thanks for coming here because of it.  

“you have played, (i think) and broke the toys you were fondest of, and are a little tired now; tired of things that break, and— just tired. so am i.” ― e.e. cummings 

I re-read this poem at least once a week. And it makes me cry at least once a week. Something about cummings just speaks to me. I like, of course, how he plays with language, and the spaces between the words and such…but his words. His choices of them. He seems to get me. Which speaks volumes for the power of poetry, and its ability to reach us through the generations. I am a little tired now. I have broken the toys I am fondest of. I am so, so tired of things that break. I am just tired.

Let’s stop here, and pick up tomorrow, with talk of many things, like chickens and music and falling down stairs. Don’t worry, there is plenty to talk about, my most dear darlings. I’m never at a loss for words. Not even a little.

Until tomorrow! May your search terms befuddle and entertain you always.

Love, Me.