I'm Bad, I'm Nationwide

Moscow. That's right, MOSCOW, and I'm not talking Moscow freakin' Idaho, here, either.

One of the most fun aspects of keeping this blog going is tracking who stops by for a visit. I mean, why you stop by to read my divinely written prose drivel is your business/problem/part of a 12 step program, not mine. I often wonder what makes you waste time that could be better spent watching a "Sham-Wow" infomercial, or in my case, coaxing that delicious "squeak" and refreshing "pop" out of a bottle of wine, but hey, it's your internet connection not mine. So I have that Feedjit tracker thing and it tells me some stuff like what search criteria was used (Oh man I am SO not going into details about that) what time you showed up, what pictures you looked at, where you skipped out to two-time me with another blog, but mostly how you got here.

Oslo, Norway (Nope, don't know anyone there. I'm sure your English is far better than my Norsk, although I do a mean Minnesota accent, don' cha know…)

Was it word of mouth? Was it from The Jumping Percheron Blog? Did my mother make you?

You see the Hawaii and Wyoming visitors are mostly Stacey and Belle's Personal Assistant, two former co-workers of mine. They stop by for gossip and pictures/news of their favorite former co-worker (and we're talking the equines here, they have no interest in pictures of me.) Occasionally my family shows up (Tucson/California/pockets of Illinois) but that’s only under coercion. My friend who lives in Beverly Hills, Florida stops by for a visit to see what kind of a mess I've gotten myself into now (she is the Ethel to my Lucy.) And a few of the volunteers from Sundance and carriage company co-workers drop in to see which end of town they should avoid…

Tampa, Florida (my brother used to live there. I visited several times. Before I die I'm going for Gasparilla Day… It sounds like fun. Like a Gay Pride parade but with a lot more swashbuckling, tights, and "Arrgh!")

So what, I wonder, brought you here, and more important, why do you keep coming back. A few of you are fellow carriage driver in other parts of the country, so for you it's about the closest thing we have to a "Professional Organization", except now that the New Yorkers have joined the Teamsters, I guess I'm a scab. Utah is a right to work state, and we're the only game in town, so there you go.

United States (Okay, that could be anyone. So it depends on the operating system.)

Ro, for example, doesn't visit regularly because she has to listen to me go on and on and on until her ears bleed, live and in person. And besides, her internet connection is not much better than two tin cans and some kite string.

My imaginary friend Dusty stops by because I pay her. (She knows 1. I'm kidding, and 2. I'm weird) But what she doesn't know is that someday her real name will be on the acknowledgements page of my novel. She also knows that I'm anal-retentive which totally explains why I check that Feedjit thing like folks down south watch CBN.

Brisbane, Queensland (Nope, I only know that they were searching for the lyrics to "New Slang", so in my book that makes them okay-dokey because I really like the Shins.)

So I guess in the interest of satisfying my curiosity I need to know:

How did you get here? Stork bring ya? Random hit on Blogger? Did you run across a picture of Charlie's bubble butt and decide to stick around? Do you get my blog delivered fresh and hot to your email in box? Just curious, I don't judge.

Whatever the reason, it's okay. You're welcome to stay. On Fridays we have an extended happy hour and use souvenir Chicago Cubs baseball bats to beat the snot out of a Donkey shaped piñata filled with plastic airplane-sized bottles of booze. The one who leaves with the most bottles wins.