Follow or Unfollow

Last week, I received four notifications on new followers, and that was awesome. I’m always happy when I get new followers, it makes my day (almost as much as comments and likes, just throwing it out there, you know, just in case).

I average around eight new followers a week, so you might be wondering what made those four so special. Well, according to WordPress, I was already following them.

Let me connect the dots, if I may (This is gonna turn into a Harsh Reality type of post, isn’t it? Oh hell yes).

Dot 1) At some point in time, those four people followed me (or I followed them first, doesn’t really matter), and as always, that was awesome. We connected, we followed each other. Cue to more awesomeness.

Dot 2) Fast forward a few months/days, and I get a notification that those people, who were already following me, just started following me.

Hm.

Look, it’s fine to unfollow me. At some point, you thought what I had to say wasn’t cool, or interesting, or maybe you were offended. Hey, it happens. No one can please everyone. It’s life, and I’m super cool with that.

But if you didn’t like what I had to say and unfollowed me, why did you follow me back?

Oh wait, you’re adding people randomly and then unfollowing them to increase your followers/following rate, aren’t you?

Sorry, but this is not fucking Twitter. Your shitty social media gimmicks don’t work here. And I don’t tolerate this kind of shit.

So you just earned an eternal unfollow, assholes.

You’re welcome.

Literally, You Guys

Kimmy said, “When I kissed Chad, I literally saw stars!”

And Sissi was all like, “Wait. You kissed him while looking up to the sky? How did you bend your head that way?”

And all the girls gawked at Sissi, ’cause she was such a party popper, that nerd.

So Kimmy rolled her eyes and said, “OMG, can you be more weird, Sissi?”

The girls nodded and said, “Totes.”

Sissi couldn’t quite understand what was going on. “It’s not about being weird, you guys! It’s literally about the overuse of the word ‘literally’.”

Kimmy swooshed her long blond tresses as it they were a whip, and said in the most blasé of ways, “I literally can’t even, Sissi. Let’s go, girls.”

And that’s how Sissi got banned from the cheerleading squad.

She later married the guy who invented Google. Figuratively speaking. Because he must be like a thousand-year-old, you guys.

A Thank You

The Blogging Coachella was a great success, everyone! Thank you so much for participating!

You know what the best part was? You were 100% responsible for the Coachella’s success. Your reblogs and comments spread the word, and then more people discovered the Coachella, and more people engaged with the participating blogs, which in turn, brought more engagement to your own blog.

It’s all about team-work, so pat yourself in the back, because you’re awesome. Besides, I bet you found some kick-ass blogs during the festivities!

You can still leave a comment with the whole shebang there (click here) but do remember to visit the participating blogs as well.

Until the next Coachella!

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Thanks For My Vagina, Mom!

Growing up as a nerdy tomboy meant things weren’t always easy for me, but if not for my mom, they’d have been a lot worse.

Mom and I always had this Gilmore Girl’s thing going on, and we talked about stuff like:

  • Penises
  • Sex
  • Hot Guys
  • Philosophy
  • Leonardo diCaprio (Who is not a hot guy, in fact. He’s Leonardo diCaprio and that’s his category, people.)
  • The meaning of life
  • Writing (because she’s a journalist and I’m a writer, so thank you genes)

We never had secrets. We couldn’t, because our apartment was super tiny. I won’t say that it was literally the size of a shoebox, because that’s a lie. No house is literally the size of a shoebox. Unless you’re a cat. But I digress.

Mom never spoiled me. She always told me when she thought I was right and when I wasn’t. And you know how moms are: they can see the future and they’re all-knowing, which meant she was right all the freaking time. It was very annoying. Still is.

Mom and I are so close, that after I met the man who would later become my husband, she asked, “Did you guys have sex?”

“Mom! No way, we just met!”

She was cutting carrots then, which was pretty ironic if you ask me. “You’ve been going out for a week now, and he’s leaving soon to God-knows-where.” She finished chopping the carrots and dropped them into a bowl. “If you feel ready, then you should have sex with him.”

“I want to,” I said, feeling my stomach churn. “But I’m scared. I’ve never had sex with a guy I met after a few days.” (Shut up, I was kind of a prude, all right?)

Mom rolled her eyes and said in the sweetest way possible. “Just enjoy life, and give him that glorious vagina I made, dear.”

WTF, mom!

But she was right, as always.

I did give him my glorious vagina, and it was magical and mind-blowing. I’m not sure if we’d be together to this day, if it weren’t for my mom’s advice.

So, Mom, this post is for you. Thanks for everything.

And my glorious vagina.

Princess Kick-ass

The internet is awesome.

With just a few clicks, I can change my whole online identity. Wait, don’t worry! I’m still your quirky neighborly friend. I’m still me, and you can expect the usual nonsense I so happily provide in my humble virtual lair. Seriously, nothing has changed, nothing that matters at least.

The thing is, I finally came up with a really cool web name that matches my personality. Yes, I have been reborn into pure web awesomeness, for I shall now be named *drums roll please*

PRINCESS KICK-ASS

Why?

Because every woman is a princess.But me? I’m not Princess Buttercup, no,no,no. I’m not Princess Sparkly Roses either, and I’m definitely not Princess Banana Fudge.

I’m

Princess

Motherfucking

Kick-ass.

Thank you everyone. You may resume your nightly activities.

*In the distance, someone shouts “For fuck’s sake, I stopped having sex for this?”*

Yes, you did, horny dude. Yes, you did.

Clean Reader Sucks Giant Monkey Balls

They’ve made an app that scrubs profanity from e-books. Seriously, their tag is, and I quote, “Read books. Not profanity.”

Okay.

Being a writer myself (I’m secretly J.K. Rowling, don’t tell anyone), I feel obligated to tell Clean Reader the following: You, sir, suck giant monkey balls, attached to a giant monkey that feeds solely on other monkeys’ balls. That’s how much monkey balls you suck.

Look, guys, I get it. Profanity is a big thing: some people love it, others hate it. But that doesn’t give an app the right to mess with an author’s work, just for the sake of political correctness.

If you don’t want to read profanity, make sure to buy from authors and houses which do not approve of profanity either. Or look for genres which likely won’t have a lot of profanity, like Y.A., Middle Grade, or Christian books.

Quite often, an author will need profanity to make characters real, otherwise their whole set-up and dialogues will feel fake. Trust the source: It’s really hard keeping profanity out of a book, and I’ve seriously tried, all in good faith. But there’s always that nasty villain or that crazy bitch, who will blurt out some level of nastiness, and hey, as long as it makes the story real and keeps the flow, that’s okay for me. Profanity can also give that pinch of salt to a narration, like you’re experiencing right now, and if that’s not right, then I don’t know what is.

Sure, some authors profusely abuse of profanity, and this means a lot coming from me, but that’s the kind of book they are writing, and if you don’t like it, don’t buy it, or give the book to a friend, or ask for a refund. That simple. It’s all about respecting an author’s work.

So, fellow writers out there, what are your thoughts on Clean Reader?

PS: Harry and Ron were supposed to be a gay couple. Don’t tell the media I said that.

PS II: The Empire Strikes Back: Chuck Wendig wrote a great post on the subject here. Not about Ron and Harry, though, about Clean Reader, I mean.

Feminist Ninja Badass or (I’m a Feminist and I Love Men)

I practiced Kung-Fu from ages fourteen to twenty-something. At my first Dojo, we practiced a mix of Kung-Fu and Muai-Thai, which is as badass as a monkey riding a unicorn and playing the violin at the sound of “Total Eclipse of The Heart”.

Now that’s badass.

Anyway, we used to have weekly fights in that Dojo. You heard me. I would go to the center of the room along with a guy quite bulkier than I was, and we would fight. No protection, no shoes. We just put to practice everything we learned.

I tended to be much faster than the guys, but I did get the eventual punch every now and then, or the usual sweep kick. And you know what, this is a pretty good example of what feminism is all about.

You see, being there was my choice. I was being treated equally to the other guys, and to be honest, that was really important to me.

As you may know from this post, I’ve always been a Tomboy. Growing up, I loved “boy” stuff, like martial arts or anime, and I don’t mean the cute animes like Sailor Moon or Sakura; I mean the bloody badassery of Saint Seya and Ruroni Kenshin, yes?

Maybe it’s just me, but I’ve never seen boys as a threat or as oppressors. Maybe it’s because I punched them back when they punched me? Maybe it’s because my best friends are usually guys? I don’t know.

The fact is: I’m a feminist and I love men. There, I’ve said it.

Many men do behave badly, but that doesn’t mean all of them are sexist assholes. Many women think they are though, and that’s why there’s a bunch of ravenous bitches out there confusing a LOT of young girls on what feminism is. So this post is to rectify that.

Feminism is NOT about misandry, people.  Misandry (the hate of men by women) sucks monkey balls, even if said monkey can play the violin at the sound of “Total Eclipse of the Heart”.

Feminism is NOT about shit like this:

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It is NOT about seeing men as inferior to our female awesomenes (though this one tempted me a bit).

It’s NOT having the right to physically, or emotionally, hurt a man because he can ‘take it’.

It’s NOT about depriving men of rights such as parental leave.

And it’s not about reducing men to Neanderthals whose brains operate solely in their penises.

Feminism is about being treated equally, you know, getting the same pay as our male counterparts, or being asked more than “Who are you wearing?” at the Oscars, or not being overwhelmed with house duties while our men sit on the couch and watch football.

I think “He for She” is a great place to start learning more about feminism and what it means.

I left that Dojo a few months later, by the way, but not because I was put to fight with others. I left because another student got higher evaluations than mine, on the sole ground that some people didn’t want a girl to become the Dojo’s star student.

Now, that’s sexist and slightly misogynist. But it will never give me the right to be a sexist asshole like they were.

Why?

Because I’m better than that.

The Baby Chick Joke

Today I will share with you one of my favorite jokes.

I really shouldn’t, because you’ll probably unfollow me. No, seriously, hear me out: I have a knack for telling jokes that are totally and irreparably NOT funny.

I’ve lost (potential) friendships after telling this joke. I wish I were joking, because I’m a master of jest (Dibs on the book title!), but this time, I’m really not.

So, you have been warned. If you wish to proceed, that’s on your own risk, and you can’t unfollow me. Also, you cannot go back. Once you read the joke, that’s it. I wish I could rewind time for you, but that would out me as an alien, and trust me, we’re both not ready for that yet.

*Ahem* Here we go:

There was once a baby chicken born with no anus.

One time it tried to fart, and it blew up.

I can tell this joke in three different languages, by the way.

German:

Es war einmal ein Baby Huhn ohne Anus geboren. Einmal versuchte es zu furzen, und es explodierte.

Portuguese:

Era uma vez um pintinho sem cu. Um dia ele foi peidar e explodiu.

Spanish:

Había una vez un polluelo sin ano. Una vez, trató de tirarse un pedo y explotó.

 You’re welcome, mankind.

How to Improve Your Blog Stats

A lot of people complain about their bad statistics. They whine that no one visits their websites. They ask themselves what they’ve done wrong,  and they wallow in self-pity as they eat chocolate and cry under the shower.

Look, guys, it’s a simple formula: We all want to be heard. Which basically means, engage with others and they’ll engage with you.

Seriously, it’s that simple.

I engage with a lot of people here in WordPress, and believe me, WordPress has a HUGE market for writers. I read, comment, and like a lot of posts, and I follow a lot of blogs. I also reblog what I like.

Dude, there’s a TON of fantastic work out there.

The interesting part is that not even half of the people I engage with return to my blog. They don’t even visit. They just reply to my comments with a “Thanks” and we never see each other again.

That’s dumb in ways I cannot begin to explain. Look, if someone reaches out to you, you goddamn reach out to them.

Anyway, let’s say that a third of the people I engage with pays it forward. Out of that third, another quarter ends up following my blog.

Are those discouraging numbers?

You bet they are.

Does it sound like a lot of work for little return?

That’s because it is.

And at the same time, it kind of isn’t.

Once you start engaging, the funniest thing will happen. It’s like inertia: once you start moving, the tendency is to keep moving. That means your numbers will start growing the more you engage, until a point where they keep growing even when you don’t engage. For me, that means the days in between my posts.

Slowly but surely, your blog starts gaining a life of its own, and that’s pretty cool.

You see, your comments link back to your blog. Your likes link back to your blog. The more you engage, the more you’re out there, and the more you increase the chances that people will discover what you have to say.

In this process, I’ve met some amazing folks. Seriously, these bloggers kick ass. And it’s really fun reading what they have to say, and knowing what they think about the stuff I have to say.

It’s the basic principle of a community, and every marketer worth a penny knows that building a community is a powerful thing.

So, if you have bad statistics, stop whining and start engaging. I’ll leave you with a great post on the subject by a living legend, Mr. OM.

We’ll continue with our usual nonsensical blabbering on the next post ; )

DIVA

Me and Husband were watching “Inglorious Basterds” in Blu-ray yes, bastards with “e”. Hey, don’t blame the messenger, man. I think Tarantino was trying to add a French flair to the word. Basteeerds. You could totally read a French accent in it.

No? Try again.

Right?

You see, hubby is a big Quentin Tarantino fan. There’s a weird irony in this, because husband is German, and “Inglorious Basterds” is all about killing Germans in gruesome ways. 

When confronted about this simple truth, husband claimed that, “The insides of a human being have no nationality.”

Let that sink in for a moment.

Anyway, as we watched the movie, he turned to me out of nowhere and said, “I really hate Diane Krueger in this role. Her character is supposed to be this big movie diva, but she just doesn’t deliver.”

To which I replied, “I agree with you, dear husband.”

I know, I’m such an ass-kisser.

“Thanks babe,” he continued. “Seriously, you’d make a waaaaay better diva then her.”

Emphasis on the “waaaaaay better diva” part, if you please.

Which brings us to today’s question:

Much obliged.