In early July I found that all of the sudden – just like that – my site hits had dropped by about two-thirds of my former total. It hurt my feelings. A lot.

I will grant, the searches that lead unsuspecting web surfers to my site are sometimes (perhaps often) misguided attempts to locate something in particular – something that isn’t actually on my website. I would imagine that it may be somewhat bewildering when they land in my pink/purple/mauve/lilac/periwinkle/deep-purple striped (please pronounce both syllables) circus wonderland.

A few have actually found it a serendipitous diversion; they have even told me so. If others have found it agitating, they have not passed their dismay along to me.

I thought perhaps the sudden paucity of visits could simply be a “Mint” error. It goes without saying, I immediately contacted The Guru. Moments later (or so it seemed), he sent me the answer.

It turns out that Google is BIGOTED against HEAVY PAGES. Indeed, fat prejudice is the last vestige of acceptable discrimination. The category page that brought in the bulk of my traffic had become too “overweight.” Therefore, in the blink of an eye, as far as Google is concerned, the page did not exist AT ALL.

I could make that category go on a “diet,” but as it is my FAMILY category, that just seems incongruous. That being so, I will find my way around this whole “lil’ weight problem.”

To begin with, I thought perhaps throwing about my most popular (or previously favoured) search terms. Yes, I am a novice at increasing my Google-iciousness or Googleekeness or Google-appeal -whatever it’s called -but I shall make a noble effort.

I’ll start with a little story:

Once upon a time, Frosti Karrason, King of Kvenland, walked about with his bare feet, badonkadonk butt jiggling across the forest floor. In the verdant grass, with the dew rising like a Gazillion bubbles, his foot tattoos were hardly noticeable.

He was in an agreeable mood; his lady in red, resplendent with her long hair flowing and beautiful Cheongsam hugging the curves of her body, had just announced to him, in the guise of a charmingly cheesy poem, that he was to be a father.

He couldn’t wait for the gentle swell of her pregnant belly to grow. They could get an ultrasound soon; he’d find if he should dream of Hot Wheels or a short hair girl. He’d always liked short hair – short hair cuts on little girls. “Musha ring dum a doo du a da,” he exclaimed in delight. He realized that his beloved girl in red should have roused from her lazy slumber by now.

He went into the bed chamber. She was still drowsy. “I’m gonna eat a lot of peaches, “ she murmured. He laughed with uproarious delight. At this din, she truly awoke. She smiled and said, “Actually, I’d rather have some lovely Fromage d’Affinois.” Nothing could quell their shared bliss, not even the idea of a crying baby who would keep them awake through long nights.

Time passed, as it does. The lady in red was 34 weeks pregnant. Friends and neighbors started bringing gifts and advice and suggestions for names. Alone, in their carefree bed, they privately laughed at some of these offerings.

Poor Mrs. Svidri, a “collector” of animals, who went on at length about the goopy eyes of one of her cats, wondering if it was cat eye herpes. True, the vivid descriptions of “cat eye goop” made the Lady in Red a little nauseated, but she didn’t mind. Mrs. Svidri, who was also an expert in many languages (as she believed her animals spoke the human languages of their countries of origin) went on to explain that many phrases sounded “indecent” in English, but were perfectly innocent. A case in point, she explained, was German “ass,” which was a conjugation of the word “essen,” meaning “to eat.”

Mrs. Anderssen had suggested that Ramona Quimby was a WONDERFUL name for a girl. This recommendation was accompanied by a cheese poem, as well as the elderly lady’s reminiscences of Cheese Sacrifice Purchase Day. Mr. Jokull brought them a painting of a green dog (which they rather liked) and then shared a slew of verses by The Cheese Poet. Ten-year-old E. Pissmore Fishbind brought them a “snot a mug.” They expressed great appreciation to E. and then behind closed doors laughed until they cried. It was a joyful time.

Then, one bright morning, Frosti found The Lady in Red delirious and fevered in their bed. She was repeating over and over again a nonsensical tirade -it seemed to upset her greatly -about “car paint.” “Mr. Clean Magic Eraser -MAGIC ERASER -Oh -magic eraser burns.” She would sink momentarily back onto her pillows, drained and exhausted. But she’s begin the harangue again, “TIRE RUB -TIRE RUB!!!! We must remove tire marks…. We have to clean bumper paint -WE NEED MR. CLEAN -MUST HAVE MR. CLEAN!!!”

Frosti filled the room with Mr. Clean Magic Erasers, but the Lady in Red seemed to find no comfort from them. Though the physicians found no problem with the baby, they were very concerned that the mother’s overwrought condition would eventually be detrimental to the health of the pregnancy.

One day, when Frosti had almost given up hope, he awoke from the chair beside the bed of his beloved wife to find that the fever was gone, as were all the strange exclamations. Still, a little weak, The Lady in Red asked, “Why is the room filled with Mr. Clean Magic Erasers?” Frosti simultaneously laughed and wept – tears of relief flowing down his cheeks soaking the silk sheets.

The miraculous infant was born a week later, any vestige of the pregnant belly soon melted away. They named her Google Mint Cheongsam. They hung the painting of the green dog over the cradle. And then they adopted a kitten (making certain it was free of cat eye goop – free of cat eye herpes). They named it Ramona Quimby.

And all was well.


Guru and other gurus, will this help? I certainly hope so, because it’s a CRAP story. And my Mint numbers and my Mint world map with the wee little “pins” bring me such gratification. Mindless gratification, I grant you, but I will take what I can get – especially until this whole Jessica Biel transmogrification is complete.

I almost forgot:
Blood is Thicker… Oh yes, BLOOD IS THICKER!