speaking of. most of you are at your computers, happily reading the shit out of bras and ranties yet (for whatever reason) you remain reluctant to confabulate. don’t get us wrong, we don’t exactly blame you. we can’t, in fact, recollect one instance where we ourselves have commented on someone else’s blogette situation. we get it.
but there are days where we send our words into the ether only to hit dead air. total radio silence. no comments, not a tingle out of you, despite our emotional investment. we start to worry we’ve disappointed. or perhaps that you are gone forever. maybe (just maybe) you were never there at all.
then we log in to google analytics and see that more and more of you fuckers are reading with each day. there are thousands of you. you’re all over the world. we know you’re out there. we can see you.
the point is that we’re curious. as much of you as you may be of us. you’re more than a dot, a jumble of numbers. we want to know more about you. who you are. why you’re here. what you’re cool with. what you like. what you want more of.