Aisle Spy With My Little Eye

Have you ever gone to the grocery store at an unusual time? Like 2am? Let me tell you, all the interesting customers come out in those witching hours.

Now, I realize that I should learn to keep my eyes on my own purchases ... but at 2am, that conveyor belt tells an interesting story about your fellow shoppers. And that story is that EVERYONE IS HIGH.

I kid you not, this is what the two people ahead of me in line were buying the other night:

Dude 1:
* Ice cream sandwiches
* Bulk Valentine-themed candies (on sale)
* Cadbury Cream Eggs
* Ketchup
* Velveeta
* Lucky Charms cereal
* Activia yogurt
* Tums

Dude 2:
* Cool-ranch Doritos
* Mountain Dew
* Four packages of salami
* Prepared seven-layer taco dip
* Ziplock bags
* Saran wrap
* Tin foil
* Eggs
* Vaseline

It should be said that even though *I* was there, I was not high. Just self-employed.

Goodbye, AdSense. Hello, Alphabetty.

A few months ago, I decided to test out AdSense on my blog. It sat there next to my posts and embarrassingly promoted "related" content like erectile dysfunction pills, Obama coin collections and Acai berry weight loss miracles. You know, all that good stuff that I'm known to write about ad nauseam.

Anyway, SURPRISINGLY no one was clicking on the ads and I was tired of seeing them, so they're outta here. Plus, I'm not big on using my site to promote stuff ...

...except stuff like ME!

* Tired of having to think?
* Is the boss making you update that darn website again?
* Do your fingers trip over themselves when using those frustrating keyboards?

Then you need a Snuggie freelance writer!
* Compact!
* Whisper Quiet!
* Space Age Design!
* Affordable!
* Marketing, writing, PR - all in one!

Heh.

But, yes. I'm finally getting around to promoting Alphabetty. I have samples of my work up if you want to take a look (although some of my really good stuff isn't there - I've had to sign some non-disclosure agreements for a few clients that don't want others to know that they've had to contract out their clever.). Since I work from home, I can pretty much be hired by people all over the place, not just Toronto ... so ... yes, please do exactly that, visitors from the interwebs, hire this girl! The *magics* of my writing, like the type you're reading right now, can be yours - learn how today!

Ugh - self-promotion. Back to the self-deprecation, says I!

I Clearly Love Change

The recent site revamp wasn't doing it for me, so I'm trying another look. Still some playing to be had with it, but I'm liking it better already.

I don't know what it is, but I love rearranging things. If I had a stronger back and a blasé attitude toward scuffed hardwood, my home would be getting a mini makeover every week. Digital revolution, I thank you.

Sad Things I Bask In

I can always tell when the internet game of Googling your name followed by the word 'needs' is back in vogue (as explained and demonstrated in this 2007 post). Want to know how I know? It's because my blog suddenly gets an explosion of hits that probably rivals the traffic received by intelligent bloggers. Or that of websites that feature lots of pictures of doughnuts. Whichever is more powerful.

Due to the name of my blog, when you Google 'Jen Needs', my site tops the list of 44 MILLION relevant pages on the interwebs. This is my crowning achievement in life and I'm going to roll around in it as if keywords were dollar bills and I was Demi Moore in Indecent Proposal.

I have officially clenched the title of SEO Queen Among Needy Jens. Take that, Aniston! Take that, Love Hewitt! And ESPECIALLY take that, Quackenbush!

Teen Dork Attempts To Be Polite

I had forgotten about this story until recently - and since there's nothing post-worthy going on with me right now, I figured I'd share it.

When I was in university, my parents moved out of my childhood home and into a house a few blocks away. My parents quickly became friendly with their new neighbours, so by the time I came back to Fort McMurray for the summer, most of the people in the cove were aware of "Joe and Marie's oldest daughter." It turns out that there were a few who were eager to have a young adult around that could be available for dog-sitting, baby-sitting, house-sitting, etc. and I was pretty happy to oblige.

I've always considered myself a fairly polite person, so when one of the neighbours saw me out in the front lawn and came over to chat, my mind quickly raced to remember what his name was. It came to me just in time - Mr. Cox! Boom. Perfect.

So as we chatted (about dog-sitting, it turns out), I was soo smug with myself and my uber politeness. "Sure thing, Mr. Cox!" I'd say. Or "Mr. Cox, would you prefer to give me the key before you leave?"

Throughout the conversation, he'd pause and look at me a little odd and I took it that either HE was a funny little man or that he just wasn't used to chatting with SUCH A POLITE 19-year old. Seriously. That's how awesome I thought I was.

So, once the dog-sitting arrangements were agreed upon, I went inside to let my parents know I'd be helping their neighbour, Mr .... I stopped dead in my tracks.

The hot flush of embarrassed horror rushed through me.

His name was not Mr. Cox.

It was Mr. Dickson.

Girls Are Complicated

Overheard - in the grocery store:

Girl: DO NOT walk away from me!!!

Guy: You JUST SAID we needed lettuce!

Girl: Oh, NOW you listen to me, you fucking asshole!

Guy: Fine ... god ... *slumps back towards her* ... what?

Girl: Well, DUH, finish getting the lettuce. WE NEED LETTUCE!