Patti's Blogging/FB Page Tips. For serious. I swear.

In the past few weeks I have been getting an increasing amount of email asking for my advice on starting your own blogs and/or FB pages. I have answered many individually. I AM DOING MY BEST. But I just cannot get to them all. Even if I did a cut and paste. I don't know where you all came from all of the sudden, but I am overwhelmed! I am, however, super thrilled that so many of you have been asking MY advice. Seriously? What. The. Frick. 

But whatever the reasons, you ARE asking me. And I hope you don't take offense that I am now going to answer the remainder of you with this post, instead of personally. I usually pride myself on answering all of my email. Even when buried in a virtual avalanche of it. Unless you're crazy and ask for pictures of my boobs. But honestly, I HAVE been answering a few of those lately, due to the fact that sometimes people who are so stupid as to ask for pictures of your boobs, forget to add the "your" part and just say "Do you have any boob pictures?" to which I reply "Yes" and send photos of various man boobs or something along those lines. 

Anyway, in this case it just seems easier to write a short list on this here blog-o-mine to answer your questions all at once. I am sure that there are much more seasoned "writers" to ask besides me, however, I DO have a list of things I would like to offer you. This list is just how I choose to roll. Others may disagree. But they are probably morons. 

P.S. That moron thing was a joke. Scratch that "probably" part. They ARE morons.
P.P.S. That was a joke too.

I chose this photo cuz I look all totally thinky and stuff.

Here are my freaking tips:

 1. Be yourself.
 2. Don't make stuff up. Even some of the world's most stupid people can tell when you are full of shit, and if they can't tell then would you really want them as your readers? Some people can take a story about going to the grocery store and make it the funniest thing you have ever read, even if nothing that amazing happened. It's all about how they write. I know a few bloggers like that and they amaze me endlessly. They don't add things to the story to make it more exciting, they just tell the story with exciting language and tell it well.
 3. Don't over embellish the story either. Embellish the language to make the story more exciting, but leave the details as close to the truth as you can. If you can't do that, then make your blog a "fiction" or "Semi-Fictitious" blog. Don't try to pass it off as true life stuff when it's not.
 4. Be yourself.
 5. Don't let negative feedback get you down.
 6. BUT if you get LOTS of negative feedback, try to take a step back and look at things and make sure that you aren't acting like a tool.
 7. Post what YOU like. You will find YOUR people that way.
 8. Be yourself.
 9. Don't try too hard. No over-thinking your FB posts or blog posts. Just let it flow. If it doesn't flow, step away from the computer. Try not to post just to fill space. Post something that means something to you. Even if it's a little tidbit from your day that seems silly at the time. People actually connect to that.
10. Don't worry about "The numbers". Those things come in their own sweet time. Worry about your content. Worry about being open. Worry about being true to yourself and not pretending to be someone else. THE NUMBERS DON'T MATTER. You can have a million Likes on a FB page, and only a hundred people interacting with you. Or you could have 500 likes and nearly all of those interacting and feeling like you are friends. Shoot for that. It's more meaningful. THOSE are the people who will promote you and get to know you and actually care if you went away.
11. Be yourself.
12. Respect your readers. They are there because they like you. Don't fuck that up by being a douche-nugget. 
13. Don't bug other FB pages to "Pimp" you. Interact with other pages if you want to get noticed. Be witty and fun. Include yourself in the conversations on threads. DO NOT over-post on bigger pages looking for attention. The pages know what you are up to and it's annoying to them and sad looking for you. Post on pages you like and just post things that are actually conversational and pertain to what is going on. If you have content that people relate to, your likes and "pimpings" will come with time.  Don't look for shortcuts.
14. Likewise, don't expect your blog to hit it big overnight. I wrote to about 200 people for months, and before I had a blog I just wrote oddball emails to my friends, and then those friends told me to blog, so I listened, but I did so sorta unwillingly considering I am lazy and stuff. Blogging is just writing stuff to your friends on a bigger scale. Pretend you are still writing to you friends and be authentic. Your new followers will come with time. Let it happen organically. If you are good, word spreads. Don't stress it. 
15. Don't write for attention.  Yes, Facebook pages and blogs get attention. But don't make that your main purpose. Write your truth.  Even if it's goofy truth. It doesn't have to be deep, but it does have to be true for people to connect with you. And with personal connection come the loyal fans. If you are a mystery to people, you leave tomorrow and they don't care. You don't have to tell everything about your personal life, either. Perky page? Keep it perky. Just because you blog does not mean that your life is an open book. You don't have to tell EVERYTHING about yourself. But what you DO choose to tell, tell the truth about it.
16. Be yourself.
17. Try to interract. Read all comments. Try to respond when you can. At the very least, click "like" so your readers know that you cared enough to read what they cared enough to write. Get involved in the conversation that YOU started in the first place by posting a status or a picture. Try to answer email. Be available. 
18. Share your limelight. Link other blogs on your blog. On your FB page, promote pages that you like and actually read. Don't promote pages that you don't read. They could be total crap. If you are telling your fans to go to there, make sure that "there" is a good place to be.
19. Try to ignore your stats. They are sooooo up and down. Write what you live. Write what's in your head. Don't worry about your freaking stats. Once you start to write only for attention instead of for fun, you're losing the whole point of writing in the first place. 
20 Be yourself.

-Thank you, Mr. Oscar Wilde

I. Want. This.

This.

This is majestic. 


Don't argue with me.


It's majestic as shit. 


If you don't look at this and weep sugary delicious Kool-Aid tears of happiness, then you and me? We can't be friends. 


Wait. Scratch that whole Kool-Aid thingy. 


Let's make it tears of that awesome syrup that was inside those little wax pop bottles instead. Kool-Aid makes me think of that scary-ass giant pitcher with legs that was always running through walls and busting the crap outta houses and stuff. I don't need that kind of unhinged violence in my life. Plus, Kool-Aid really is kinda nasty. One time my mom bought us Root Beer and Cola flavored Kool-Aid and that stuff was the shittiest stuff ever. Even if you added an entire bag of sugar it was still undrinkable. We even made popsicles out if it in ice trays with little toothpick sticks and tried to sell them to kids in the 'hood to no avail. Even those hungry, parched from the summer sun, ding-dongy kids weren't falling for that BS. Plus, Kool-Aid always makes me think of dead Jesus freaks. And that's kind of a downer. 

Syrup from the Gods.
Much less depressy than dead Jesus freaks.

Anyways...back to that majestic candy bike up there at the top of the page. 


It's like Willy Wonka had an affair with Mr. Huffy and they had a baby. Somehow. I mean, it's totally two dudes having this affair in my head. And two dudes can't make a baby. But I'm pretty sure Wonka was gay in both versions of the movie, so I'm pretty much 110% positive that he didn't do girls. And I don't know nuthin' about Mr. Huffy. There probably isn't even a real Mr. Huffy. I just made that up. But if there was a Mr. Huffy I'm pretty sure he'd be gay. And if he wasn't, he'd probably turn gay after meeting Wonka, cuz HELLO! That dude owns a candy factory that houses thousands of orange midgies and rivers of chocolate, and psychedelic acid trippy boat rides. And if you wouldn't go gay for free candy, LSD trips, and orange midgie slaves that sing, then something' just ain't right with you. Something just ain't right with you at all.


In case you wondered, I kinda want this bike. If by "kinda" we mean with every ounce of desire that I have in my body. Like, as much as I want air in my lungs, Norman Reedus on my bed, and beer in my belly. 


Just take a moment and look at the big freaking cupcake on the back. Do you know what the frick THAT is? Do you know? It's a storage space. Ya know, a place to put a change of clothes, or your phone, or a snack, or your finger monkey, or your Mogwai, or your E.T., or your booze, or the marijuana you're gonna sell. Because let's face it: Selling weed from this thing would be genius. Who would suspect it? Nobody, that's who. And you'd automatically get the attention of every sky high person on your biking route of awesomosity, because you're riding on something that looks like food. And there's nothing that high people like more than food. Except getting more high. So BAM! There's your clientele right there coming to you. 


But that's not what I would do with this bike. No. I just wanna do innocent things, like ride it around my 'hood. Ringing a little bell and singing songs about how awesome I am and how sucky everyone else is on their plain old boring ass bikes. And yeah, those will be kids that I'm showing off to. But I don't care. Kids are show-offy a-holes and we all know it. And just because I'm not "officially" a kid, doesn't mean that I can't play their a-hole games and kick butt at it.


Life's a bitch when you don't have a cupcake candy bike of awesome.

Things I would do with a Nigerian Pygmy Goat

Seriously, you guys. What wouldn't I do with a freakin' Nigerian Pygmy Goat? That's the better question. Am I right? Especially this particular happy, smiley one. But I am going to go the route of listing the things that I WOULD do. Why? Because listing the things that I wouldn't do with a Nigerian Pygmy Goat doesn't really make for a very long blog. And although -truth be told- there isn't enough time in what remains of my life to even possibly begin to to list all of the things that I would do with this fantastical creature, I am going to try my best to list a few because I am a firm believer that if you put something out there into The Universe, The Universe just might hear it and totally decide to be awesome and give you that something that you put out there. Kinda like a vision board, but less dorky Oprah-y and more cool-y Patti-y.

 1)  I would hug him and squeeze him and call him Otto Boomerang. He would be my best friend. Just don't tell my 27 other best friends. Cuz they all think they are my only one. I like to make people feel special. It's super nice of me.

 2)  I would walk him on a leash like a little puppy. But, like, a bazillion times cuter. Cuz DUH! He's a muthaflippin' Nigerian Pygmy Goat! And instead of barking at people he would be all baa baa or hee haw or whatever the heck it is that goats do. But more pygmy-ish and stuff. Kinda like if the producer of those noises had just sucked all the helium out of a balloon. Really cute and midgety sounding like that. And when he would go poops I wouldn't have to pick it up like you do with your dog poops, because goats eat everything, so he would just go poops and then totally eat it. Which would not only save me from doing something gross like having to touch a steaming pile-o-poo with just a thin-ass plastic barrier, but also save me money on buying those damn bags. 

 3)  I would take him to Target Portrait Studio. I mean, duh. Come the frick on! I'd probably take him there before I even brought him home. The girl who works there really enjoys my portrait sessions and would no doubt be willing to squeeze me in at a moments notice. Especially if I showed up with this little piece of cuteness.

 4)  I would have clothing custom made for his adorable little body. He would have some corduroy slacks and a blazer with elbow patches for when he's feeling scholarly. A satin pajama set for when he's in a lounging man sorta mood. Swim trunks and flippers so we could play in the pool together. Some True Religion jeans and an Afflction t-shirt for when he feels like looking like a douchebag. A pair of overalls for those days when he just feels like hanging at the park and being casual. And a nice evening gown for when he accompanies me to the drag bar.

 5)  Although I would be oh so super duper tempted to ride Otto Boomerang, due to his small size, I would try my best to refrain. But since the urge would be mega strong, I would let my Zombie Twins ride him instead. This would be especially nice when I had him out for walks through my neighborhood. The children would love it. The adults would be afraid of me. It's a total win/win.

 6)  I would take him to the park and push him in the baby swing, ride with him down the slide, see-saw our brains out, and teach him to play frisbee better than those show-offy caniney bastards.

 7)  I would take him downtown for a stroll, whereupon seeing his awesome pygmy goatishness, passersby would stop to pet him, and while they were bent over I would pick their pockets. We would go to Sprinkles with the winnings and eat the crap out of some bad ass cupcakes.

 8)  I would organize a parade and make him the Grand Marshall. This parade would consist of kids on bikes and grown women on Cruzin Coolers. Make that drunk grown women.

 9)  I would take him to the zoo so that he could prance around and na-ne-na-ne-boo-boo all the other animals.

10) I would put him in The Hub's place in our Christmas Card photo and see if anyone notices.

Louie The Louisianan

When I was 15 my friends and I found the skeleton of a cow at the bottom of a cliff. 

News Flash: Cow vertebrae are super cute. 

I took one home and named him Louie The Louisianan. I made him a banner and wrote his name on it with the calligraphy pen some relative gave me for xmas the previous year that made me roll my teenagery eyes like a mofo and think "WTF am I going to do with a freaking calligraphy pen? I'm not Shakespeare. I'm not writing sonnets all up in here. Sonnets are for pussies." But it's like The Universe knew I would need to write something fancy, so it totally did me a solid and told my aunt to hook me up. 

Thanks, Universe.

And oh...Louie's banner WAS fancy. I put toothpicks on the ends so it could roll up like a scroll and be opened quite ceremoniously when he needed to be announced and stuff. Like, when he was entering a room or whatever. If I had been a trumpeteer I would have even played a big do-do-da-do situation before I unscrolled his banner and announced him. But I didn't have a trumpet. I was, however, one badass recorder player. But although I looked everywhere for my old recorder, it was nowhere to be found. When we moved the year before, my mom had sold pretty much everything that I loved including but in no way limited to: my Glamour Gals collection, my Play-Doh ice-cream truck, and my Annie Doll. Those scars run deep, mom. Deep. 

But I had Louie to keep me company in my new, lonely, play-doh ice-cream truck-less room. And I loved Louie like I love anything that's odd and freaks people out. 

I wrote him a little biography of his life story up until the point that I found him hanging out at the bottom of that cliff. He was from New Orleans. He grew up on the Bayou, huntin' gators and selling their skins to boot makers and stuff for a decent dime. He had a family, but something bad must have happened to them, because when he would start to talk about them he would get a wistful look in his eye sockets and just stare out the window for hours at a time, never finishing what he had started to say. And I never pushed it. I just let him tell me what he wanted when he wanted, because (a) I'm not Barbara Walters, and (b) I have a short attention span and letting people (or vertebrae) tell me big honkin' stories, and actually listening is not my strong suit. Or weak suit. Or any suit of all, really. I don't own any suits of any kind. Suits are for suckers. And people who work in buildings. Which are really the same thing.

Louie liked Vienna Sausages and creamed corn. A lot. It's, like, all he ever wanted to eat. Although I rarely let him eat because he had no stomach and if I got creamed corn all over the floor my mom would pitch a royal fit. Louie's favorite music was Public Enemy. I know. I was surprised too. He loved horror movies. Wanted to watch them all the time. Never got scared either. He was one tough customer. His favorite smell was Pine Sol and he liked the feel of burlap. 

Louie was a keeper. But since I'm all growed up, and doing grown up things like giving birth and raising a person and stuff,  I've been keep him in my attic. Yeah, I feel bad about it, but sometimes dead cow bones freak little children, and not so little husband's, out. But I might bring Louie down soon to sit in front of my fireplace with the Zombie Babies. People are starting to get used to my babies, and much to my dismay, rarely is anyone fazed anymore. With the exception of that one housekeeper I interviewed a few months ago. So it's time to step up my game, and an old cow vertebrae with a creepily happy face, just might do the trick. Especially if I put, like, a gross rubber rat or spider in his mouth or something. People are jaded, you guys. I gotta do what I gotta do.

P.S. These are my Zombie Babies. Just in case you aren't on my FB fan page and haven idea what the hell I'm talking about. They are pretty amazing, and I have no doubts that they will love Louie. And I can totally trust them around him because duh, his flesh is long gone. Plus, my babies are sweetie pies and would never hurt a fly. A fat, fleshy slow-moving kid? Yes. But a fly? No.

Sometimes I'm too lazy and confused about the point of my blog posts to actually title them. This is one of those times.

While I was being all insomniac-ish in bed last night, I pretty much wrote two awesome blog posts in my head. They were good. Really good. One was so funny that I was having a hard time controlling my laughter, and I was worried that I would wake up The Hub. And then I thought for a second that it might not be such a bad idea if he woke up because then he could bask in my brilliance with me, because while basking in ones own brilliance is pretty fantastic, it's much fantastic-er to bask in your brilliance while also basking in the awesomeness of someone else basking in your brilliance. That's like double basking. And everyone knows that everything's better when it's doubled. Well, except maybe your body weight. Or a herpes outbreak. Or the length of a Celine Dion song.

So at one point during my lonely giggle-fest I almost nudged him awake but then I realized that not only does he not usually find the things that I find funny to be nearly as funny as I do, but he also had to get up for work at 4:30 am and would most likely not be super excited to be awakened at 1:00 am unless I was planning on giving him the goods. Which I wasn't, because (a) My brain was wide awake, but my body was super tired, (b) I was in mega giggle mode, and in my experience, sexy time doesn't work out really great when only one of the participants in in mega giggle mode, because the non-giggle-modey participant will most likely think that the giggly one is giggling at them, and people (i.e. men) are kinda sensitive about people (i.e. women) giggling when they are naked and trying to do the sexy things, and (c) Although there originally was a "c", I have now forgotten it due to the fact that I was really caught up in "b" which got me thinking about the first time I touched a boy's Willy Wonka and how I got the giggles and although he seemed to find it adorable at first, he started to get a bit self-conscious about it after a few minutes. Which kinda made me giggle more. And let's get real here folks...those things are pretty ridiculous, especially when you're faced with one for the first time. How anyone can keep their composure during a time like that is way beyond my understanding.

FYI I just made up that whole "Willy Wonka" thing, although surely someone has used it somewhere before. And if there is not a porn film called "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" my faith in the creativity of the porn industry is going to be shattered. SHATTERED. As a matter of fact, I'm going to google that stuff right now. Hold on...

"Willy Wanker and the Fudge Packing Factory." It exists. Thank you, Universe. Because seriously...I was thisclose to going into the porn industry just to write, produce, and direct that awesomefest. So the fact that it's been done already has really saved me from being ostracised from my family for being a porn whore. It's not like I was gonna star in it or anything. I was just gonna make it. I woulda hired actors to actually be in it. Who knows? I might have even been able to get Johnny Depp to star in it. He IS very experimental these days, what with the whole sticking his Willy Wonka in one of the Olsen twins situation. I don't know which twin, but does it really matter?

He's obviously on a downward spiral of bad decision making and shameful behavior.

And now I'm sad. Cuz that man is a hot piece of action and he's either banging the really grossly skinny Olsen or the really really really grossly skinny Olsen. And now I'm flashing back to when I first heard that news, which was approximately one week after I planned "Occupy Johnny Depp" (click there) on Facebook and made a whole Pinterest board about it where my fans could help me gather all the items we needed for a successful occupation of him and his pants. And then I heard the news and that all came to a screeching halt. Screeching. Halt.

Super screeching.

And I assume this comes as no surprise to you, but I have totally gone off topic with this post. Basically it was supposed to be a post about how I wrote two amazingly awesome blog posts in my head but then stuff happened and I forgot them both by the time that I woke up from my much too short slumber of approximately 4 hours. And I was distraught over the whole forgetting thing. But now I'm ok. Mainly because I accidentally discovered that there exists in this world, such a thing as Willy Wonka porn. Any day I make a discovery like that, is a good day.