You’re Either Part of the Problem or All of the Problem or You Could Be the Solution. Or a Chemical Mixture. I Never Really Understood Science. Or Math.

So, it’s finally come to this – a bittersweet day on which I have decided to make a confession of a deep, dark secret that I’ve been hiding for months.

I decided to “come out” finally as a service to my readers who may be experiencing this same issue.  It helps to know that you’re not alone. At least, it helps if you’re selfish like me and are comforted by the fact that others are suffering along with you.  And if there are no readers experiencing this same issue, then I guess I am alone.  And that kind of bites, but oh well.  I’m sure you have your own ways of suffering.

So, here’s the thing.  I now have over 1000 subscribers.  Woohoo.  I mean, awesome, right?  

But less people read my blog per day now than they did a month after I started.  Two years ago.  A lot less.

Basically, let’s say I used to have 30 or 40 daily readers out of every 50 subscribers.  

Now I still have about 30 or 40 readers.

Okay, so, somehow I managed to miss having to take Statistics in college, but I’m pretty sure that a graph of my numbers would look equivalent to one reflecting the success of Lindsay Lohan’s career over the last decade.

And I have way more fun and talent than Lindsay Lohan, so that hardly seems like a fair comparison.

Upon reflection, I’ve decided that the reason for this preposterous report of my readership could have one of the following causes:

Uno.)  99% of my blog subscribers are spammers who don’t actually read anyone’s blog, but apparently make tons of money off of pretending they do.

B.)  Jon Stewart is screwing up my blog stats on purpose so I will spend less time blogging and more time stalking writing love letters to him.

III.) WordPress hates me.

Four.)  People read one post, and think that I am fabulous, then realize that my writing sucks and stop reading.  But they are too lazy to unsubscribe.  

Quintuplets.)  The only people who are able to stumble across my blog are the ones who search for it by typing in, “my pants won the spelling bee?”  And, let’s face it, usually the shoes win the spelling bee, not the pants.

Obviously it’s B.

Now I have to think of a solution.  Certainly, I cannot allow Jon Stewart to completely change my life – unless there is some kind of financial profit involved on my part.  In the meantime, I must keep blogging, if only to prove that I can persevere through these difficult and trying times of unsatisfactory blog statistics.

If Jon Stewart is deliberately tanking your statistics, too, then I suggest you look to me as a role model and follow my lead in this.  Don’t stop blogging.  And don’t devote any more time than usual to stalking sending him communications of an admiring yet somewhat admonishing-him-for-not-paying-any-attention-to-you nature.  Trust me; it doesn’t work.  

As Dory from Finding Nemo says, “Just keep blogging and stop looking at your stupid blog stats because either Jon Stewart, the NSA, or terrorists are screwing them up.” 

Or something like that.

 

 

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You Do the Math

After 43 years, I realized that my refusal to garden and my near boycott of cooking have absolutely nothing to do with my gross inability to perform these tasks.  It’s because I like to be efficiently productive, and neither of these chores fits my requirements.

Basically, according to my calculations, Work Worthy of Me needs to fit the following formula:  time spent working<time spent enjoying.

Now, I think you can see where this is going.

Let’s start with cooking.

I do not understand the need to slave in the hot kitchen for two hours to create a food item, or even a meal, that people will spend 45 minutes, tops, on appreciating.  (Except for my daughter, who drags out every meal for two hours.  Even then, though, the formula does not work.  Because time spent working must be LESS THAN time spent enjoying.  Not LESS THAN OR EQUAL TO.  Even though I was going to put that, but I couldn’t figure out how to do that with my keyboard.  Oops, I just figured it out.  ≤ Too Late.)

Now, the gardening thing is a bit trickier.  Let’s take annuals first.  First of all, this a dumb categorization.  Annual means “once a year” – implying that it happens repeatedly.  For example, I have to annually ask Cap’n Firepants if annuals are the ones that keep coming up or the ones you have to replant.

So, let’s say you take an hour to plant some annuals that will last about three weeks.  Technically, that would seem to fall nicely into my formula.  But, here’s the problem.  Of those three weeks, I will probably spend 1 minute/day noticing how pretty those annuals are.  Hmm.  So multiply by 21, carry the 3, subtract the 50, and – wow, that’s a whole 21 minutes I spent enjoying those flowers.  Trigger big ole annoying buzzer sound here.  Annuals – you’re outta here.

Perennials don’t work either.  It would take nearly 3 years of repeating themselves for three weeks a year to earn their Time Spent Enjoying Minutes.  And nothing lives 3 years in our yard.  Between armadillos, Texas droughts, and a bulldog named Wonderbutt who tramples anything in his path, cacti are about the only thing that are sturdy enough to withstand nature and the Firepants Family.  And I do not enjoy cacti.  So, there’s that.

In conclusion, it is fortunate that I married Cap’n Firepants.  Because he does not like math, and can both cook and garden.  So, I should probably revise my formula a bit.

time I spent working < time I spent enjoying

OR

time Cap’n Firepants spent working = time I spend enjoying

AND

Cap’n Firepants + Mrs. Cap’n Firepants = A well-fed couple with a beautiful yard and a perfectly calculated annual tax return

We’re perfect for each other.

Shouldn’t it be “Semi-Perennial Sale”? I’m so confused.