Google Analytics-Inspired Ramble

It is a momentous day here at Midnight Rambler. Are you ready for it? I got my second follower!! Welcome, Jen of Haute Whimsy. (And there was much fanfare! I am picturing lots of confetti and party horns and fun hats. And virtual confetti is fantastic because there is no mess afterward!) [There were other photos indicating fanfare, but this one made me smile the most. So there you have it.]

So all this excitement reminded me that I use Google Analytics to track the vast amounts of traffic on my blog. Last I looked, I think I had had, oh, maybe 50 visitors, with most of those being myself before logging in as myself. I hopped on over there this morning to see what was happening and who was stopping by. And, boy, did I feel bad that the top 10 or so keywords searched to reach my site were variations on a theme of "squeamish cell carcinoma." I want to send out a huge apology to anyone enduring the wait to find out how bad their squamous cell carcinoma is, who go out looking for medically certified answers, only to stumble on my rambling, squeamish thoughts. [I also feel compelled to point out that I do know I am spelling it wrong and that was totally intentional, because just the thought of some foreign cancerous thing growing on my body (and the subsequent surgery to have said growth removed ... while I was still conscious and talking to the doctor) still makes me utterly and completely squeamish. Ick!]

And that thought right there never fails to get a smirk from Mr. J, who likes to remind me that I often come up with thoughts like, "I could be a crime scene investigator." (after watching CSI, of course) or "Maybe someday I'll get an aesthetician's license and earn a little extra income." (after meeting someone who did just that and loves it) Mr. J then likes to remind me that (1) I can't even think about blood and guts without flinching, and (2) I won't even pop a zit on his back without a great deal of "ewww" and "gross" and "that's disgusting" (not exactly the words you want to hear as your aesthetician works on your face, I suppose).

This isn't a new phenomenon. Back in the day, after watching Nick Nolte and Deborah Winger in Cannery Row (I think I might need to go back to watch that movie. I remember absolutely loving it back when I was a preteen.), I decided I wanted to be a marine biologist (albeit, a marine biologist living in 1930s in pre-high-falutin' Monterey). Then, in my 20s, I went to the Monterrey Bay Aquarium and discovered that I couldn't even bring myself to pick up a starfish in the kiddie pool area (the 10-year-old boy next to me thought I was a big wuss; and he was right). Then, after seeing Raiders of the Lost Ark (are you detecting a theme, here ... other than my absolute love for parentheses and asides?), I decided I wanted to be an archaeologist, despite my absolute fear of the dark and my detestation of creepy, crawly bugs. In college, I actually took an archaeology class and discovered that not only is it incredibly tedious with memorization of a ridiculous amount of information, but also, rarely ever do you go out in the field unless you are really, really lucky (or, in my case, unlucky).

Wow, what a tangent that turned into! A few sips of coffee after a week with no coffee, and look at me go! So, welcome, Jen. Thanks for stopping by. And I really hope I win those gloves :-)