Saturday, January 1, 2011
1) I am not Ann Landers.
Please help me decide if I should break up with my boyfriend. He’s…
Just do it. Just freakin’ do it.
2) I am not a techie. I am not a social marketing guru.
What Wordpress theme would you recommend for my blog?
Do I look like a geek to you?
3) I am not there yet.
I have a dream. I’ve always wanted to…
Don’t quit your day job.
4) I am not a mommy blogger.
How do I get my kids to stop fighting? I can’t think straight with all their screaming and tattling.
Hand each a butter knife and tell them to make it quick, Real Housewives is on.
5) I am not a fashion forecaster. Or particularly tactful.
Will gladiator heels still be in this spring, or should I throw all of mine out and buy blah-blah-blah to go with blah-blah-blah? I’ve enclosed a picture.
I see you’re reading Cosmo. That’s a thick issue. The only things thicker are your hamhock thighs. Those jeans aren’t doing you a favor. Four-inch heels couldn’t save you. Pray that palazzo pants come back.
6) I am not a car mechanic.
My car makes a funny noise when I run the a/c and stereo at the same time.
Turn up your volume. That’s Engelbert Humperdinck trying to be heard above the din. “Please release me, let me go…”
7) I don’t want a lame blog.
Why don’t you hold giveaways? You could have tons of subscribers by now.
But they’d stop coming when I stop bribing. I only want one kind of subscriber: the kind who reads, mindfully. Plus the kind who comments, thoughtfully. OK, two kinds.
8) See #7.
Why aren’t you selling e-books? Everyone’s doing it. You ought to package your life coaching/blog marketing/weight loss secrets/fear conquering advice and sell it.
You lost me at “Everyone’s doing it.”
9) I didn’t sign up for the pissing contest.
What is your readership growth strategy? Maybe if you tried harder you’d have 8 million readers like that Filipina blogger who ranted about not being allowed to use the store landline to summon her chauffeur because she’d forgotten her cell in the van.
I’d kill my blog before my superiority complex gets too big for its britches.
There is no formula. There are only people who want to sell you theirs.
at 2:37 PM
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