when I think about me, I stalk myself

For various reasons, I've been periodically checking my stats the last few weeks, keeping abreast of who swings by here. In some cases, I can figure who's who. Most of the time, my visitors are unheard voices from around the world, and most, it would seem, share a kindred lust for all things Dirty Dancing and/or Grease.

And different kind of boobs. Wow! The internet, no matter where in the world, does love it some different kind of boobs. To which I say God bless you, brothers and sisters, and express my shared fondness. Well done, strangers of the world. Well done, indeed!

So anyway, my point in checking out my stats isn't to weed out any stalkers. I'm pretty sure I don't have any, nor do I stalk any of you, and to suggest otherwise is laughable. Because as much as I adore you all and would totally hang out with you if you wanted me to and perhaps you would try to make that happen by luring me into your car with candy and promises of gifting me with a puppy, I do have other interests that take up the bulk of my time that blogging doesn't suck away.

Like digging pits in my basement, burning away the flesh on my fingertips to eliminate trace prints, and dressing up like a woman in skins sewn from my victims. This last hobby doesn't take as much time as the others because, welp, I'm a woman, as indicated by the fact that I have boobs. Different kind of boobs, apparently. At least based on many Google searches that lead people here.

Because I know some of your locales, my tracking doesn't take much effort. And because next to none of you comes directly from my humble state, I was pretty relaxed about the whole thing. Until last week, when I began noticing an inordinate number of readers based right here from the state I call home paying me pretty regular visits. Visits that would, on occasion, stretch into really uncomfortable lengths of time.

"No need to panic," I thought. "The state's big enough for more than just my minor ego. Surely it's fine." As I've stated here before, no one I know has even the slightest clue I have a blog, for I never use words that start with the letter 'B' in their presence, so even though these new local visits kind of bothered me, I relaxed.

Until a few days later, when I logged on to my stat counter and noticed several visits stretched over the week coming from a town less than 2 miles from my house. Less than two miles! And I'm friends with people in this less than two miles from my house town! So not cool! I began thinking I could no longer pretend it's was just a fluke these new hits were popping up.

So I kept checking. Kept seeing this town showing up in my stats. Kept not liking it all. Seriously, I love my friends. What I don't love is them knowing some of the stuff about me that I've written about here, and by now, I was wholly convinced by dear friends now knew I liked to stripper walk in my front room when not enjoying sea animals and the routine Mike Rowe fantasy. I decided to get to the bottom of things. Did some poking around, and slowly started to wonder why, when I visited my own site, I no longer showed up as a resident of Minnesota.

Then it hit me. My cable company recently altered the locations from where my service bounces out of, and thus I'd noticed some of my readers now track from different locales. I'm a reader (I seriously dig this FADKOG chick. If you haven't, you should really check her out!). Could it be my locale had also changed?!

Hey, Colonel Mustard? Whaddya think? Why yes, yes it would seem I've been stalking myself the past couple weeks. Heh. Yeah, I'm cool. If I were me, and I hadn't already been obviously doing so, I'd totally stalk me.

And you know why?

Because I have a killer personality. And different kind of boobs. In fact, they're so different, so very different, they just might be able to quote from Dirty Dancing and/or Grease.

btw: A hearty "welcome!" to all those new readers lured here by the bait of a Google search for "different quotable boobs"! Enjoy! Maybe leave a comment so I don't think you're stalking me, k?