Today I tallied up the results of the Rambler survey. I hope you'll find the results at least semi-interesting, and I just know you'll love this one person who sent a survey in. So here we go...
The average age of my reader is 18.8...or 19, with one who is "old enough to suck pussy." I couldn't calculate this fine human because I just don't know how old that is. Anyone have any guesses?
I got responses of people who have read the rambler anywhere from one week to "always." The average responder has been reading the rambler for 8.25 months, including one who responded "some time" and another who raves: "Long enough to know that dyke pride is totally da bomb!" Again..any guesses on how long that is?
The question "Who of my friends would you most like to meet?" I got several responses for. One vote for Rebekah, one for Karen and one for Suever. I got two votes each for Christy ("I would love to see how your bitchy roommate compares to mine") and for Melissa. I even got one vote for my furby! And lovely Jocelyn got 9 votes, with one person (3 guesses) saying, "Joci, the other dyke!"
60% of my readers have read my story, 40% have not. Let's step it up people. :-)
For location, I got a variety of answers...several from New York City and other parts of New York, a few from the Bay Area (woohoo!), one from my most favorite state of OHIO, one each from: Duluth, MN, Chester, VA and Detroit MI. One from Australia and one from England and one from Hawaii and my personal favorite from YOUR personal favorite: LESBO-LAND.
And that, my friends, concludes the survey. I hope you enjoyed it. Now, on with today's rambling.
Tonight, as I was walking back from the gym I realize that I don't distinguish cars from their owners. Am I the only one who does this? Like I'll see a car coming and I won't think of the person who is actually in the car, but rather, just the car as a separate entity with a life of its own. Maybe I have seen Christine too many times? I have this tendency to personify cars. Like if a car stops and lets me cross the path in front of it, I think to myself "Well that was a nice car." The car wasn't being nice you moron, it was the person in the car! Still, no matter how much those voices in my head shout at me, I continuously do this. I don't see headlights, I see eyes. I don't see a fender, I see a mouth. Am I crazy or just really really creative? Please tell me its the latter.
So what else is going on...oh yes, I got a great email from Karen to Suever that she forwarded to me that is the very essence of east side gangsterisms. Indulge yourself in this great literary piece: