OMfuckingErisAndFSM there are a hot zillion people in my hometown reading my blog. OK, a zillion percent of my few reading people.
I'm convincing myself that this is BloodLossGirl and Scrabble Crush and Veeta and Crash and Broad Manly (hi, Mr. Daisy) clicking over and over again from different computers. Because my other family is not reading my blog. But if you are, hi. I love you and 1) I will probably never really stop celebrating Christmas even though I'm nauseous after watching What Would Jesus Buy and contemplating another winter of telling the baby evil, evil corporate lies, 2) I would really like you to buy me a copy of Peter Pan for the Bird because my imagination is running out, 3) Dad, I am afraid you'll have to pry my nose ring out of my cold rigid corpse but rock on with not mentioning it in a long time and with the not fainting at the wedding a few years ago when you saw my tattoos for the first time, and 4) Now please go away for the next paragraph.
I am still utterly pleased that I continue to get hits from "wiccan porn" searches. I have plans to write a book of it and become very rich because there are others who want to read about orgiastic cavorting under full moons and maenad revivals. I spent a fruitless search for decent erotica late last night and am convinced that my own inventings are way sexier than the tripe that passes for arousing on these our beloved intarwebs.
(This post brought to you be a certain feed analyzer suddenly deciding I'm not blinvisible anymore. Blinvisible is both a BTVS reference from the best season, #6, and also makes a perfect new term for blog invisibility.)
Also, no one is finding me anymore by searching for "night weaning." Pity, since I hacked that baby up right. Use the sun, people. Use the sun. It's magic.