You-Google-izer

Marketing is such a crapshoot. Trying to figure out how effective your marketing actually is can give you a headache.

But there are tools that can make analyzing your web traffic easier (because web traffic has a direct relationship to marketing). Like Google Analytics. I'd be flying blind if it weren't for Analytics. With it, I know which marketing efforts are paying off. It tells me who's visiting me, how many pages they visit, how long they look at each page, how loyal they are... The list goes on.

One of the things Google Analytics reports is search string results. Basically, if someone uses any search engine and then clicks on a link through to your site, you can see what words or phrases they were searching for.

There are reasons to pay attention to this, but you don't care about that. You care about what some of those search strings are. Trust me—you do. Because they're hilarious.

Of course, the top searches that end at my site are variations on Kate Perry, or Project Daddy or Project Date. But I also get a lot for Kate's World, the official title of my blog. I didn't know it when I picked the name, but apparently there's a porn site called Kate's World. Brilliant on my part, because even if one person looking for a sexy naked chick comes to my site and gets interested in my writing it's worth it.

But I get traffic from people searching for a lot of random things. Here are a few of my favorites:

"english to pirate translation"
adult tutu cowboy boots
there's a man in a field, and he's naked and dead
hillbillies and rednecks
"dispose of a dead body" in a cemetery
life's better on the porch
snoopy butt tattoo
"compulsion to wear women's underwear" "to work""

To top all those off, we have...

why do i have a handcuff fetish?

I'm tempted to brainstorm the reasons why, just in case this person ever comes back—I like to be helpful—but that's a whole blog post in itself.

Now Playing...

I've got a confession to make. Right now, I'm listening to a playlist that includes Kenny Loggins, Air Supply, Pat Benatar, and Heart. To name a few—the rest of the artists on the list are entirely too embarrassing to reveal. As it is, I'm sure I've seriously damaged my coolness factor by admitting this much.

I was trying to figure out what came over me, and I think the playlist was inspired by my friend Katie. Katie is, to put it mildly, a music snob. I'm kind of surprised she was still willing to be my friend after finding out I like listening to the Pussycat Dolls. (I think the fact that I love Prince was a redeeming factor.)

Anyway, today while I was talking to Katie on the phone, I was overcome by this need to select music that would drive her insane. Perverse, I know. Especially since she's not even here. But I can't help it. I'm a flawed character.

Only Dan Fogelberg's "Same Old Lang Syne" is playing right now and—dang—does it touch a certain something deep down. I might have to buy the song and add it to the soundtrack I've created for the book I'm working on. It's chock full of cheesy emotion, and we all know I love cheese.

Stay tuned for next week when I tout the genius of Adam Ant's "Stripped." Absolute classic.

In the Event of Emergency

They announced that they were going to start boarding the plane in a few minutes. So I got in line with all the other people and pulled out my cell phone. I had one last call to make before flying out.

Nate answered on the first ring. "Aren't you on your flight yet?"

"They're about to start boarding. I just wanted to tell you I love you before I got on."

"I love you too."

"I also wanted to tell you that the past ten years with you have been great. I've cherished all of them. I just wanted you to know that in case the plane goes down in a seething ball of flames."

The woman in front of me turned around and stared at me with wide eyes. I smiled politely at her before I returned to my conversation with Nate. "Love, I also want you to go on with your life and to be happy."

He paused, obviously thinking. Then he said, "This is also in case your plane crashes?"

"Yeah." I pursed my lips, reconsidering a little. "Well, I mean, you've got to mourn me, but don't mourn me forever."

"Thanks. I'll try to remember that."

Everyone in line began to shuffle forward. I picked up my little bag and herded right along. "Okay, I've got to go. Oh—and love? If I go down in a twisted heap of steel, Parisa gets all my shoes, okay?"

Flaming Beagles

For Christmas, one of the gifts Nate got me was a (really nice) Emily the Strange sweatshirt with "Fight like a Girl" printed on the front. The other day, a woman asked me if the sweatshirt represented some special club I belonged to. Like Fight Club.

It gave me ideas. I wouldn't want to start a fight club. I mean, why bother? But I could see starting a different sort of club—a motorcycle club. Like the Hell's Angels, only cooler.

So I decided to ask Nate his opinion. "What do you think about starting our own motorcycle gang?"

Nate was silent, thinking deeply as he's known to do. Then he said, "I see one problem with it."

"The fact that we don't have motorcycles?"

"Yes."

I waved a hand. "Minor detail."

"Seems like a major detail to me."

"Trust me, it's not," I assured him. He didn't look like he believed me, but he didn't make any further objections so I continued. "The major deal is what we call ourselves."

"How about the Flaming Beagles?"

"Um..." I wrinkled my nose. "I like the flaming part."

"I thought you might."

"Beagles don't sound very tough though, do they?"

"Snoopy was tough."

"True." I pursed my lips. "And he wore a cool, long scarf. But how would a flaming tattoo of Snoopy look on a butt cheek?"

"Uh, excuse me." Nate blinked. "What's this talk of tattoos?"

"If we're a motorcycle gang, we'll have to get tattoos. To represent."

"Of course. To represent. Silly me." He was silent for a long moment before he said, "Better a tattoo of Snoopy with flames than Snoopy in a tutu, I guess."