I have more followers on Pinterest than I do on Twitter. And, I have more followers on Twitter than I do on my blog.
Why is this an issue?
Well, in the blogging world (or quite possibly in my own head), followers on one's blog equate glittery rainbows filled with chocolate on a bed on hundred dollar bills. Or as Martha would say, it's a good thing.
Followers are people that love you and what you have to say so much, that they have committed a little bit of their soul to you. They are willing to be bombarded with your blather through email or on your homepage, or whatever. They eagerly anticipate your every word. Which is important because most of my words are funny. And some of them are highly inappropriate, which is also funny.
Followers on Pinterest automatically get your pins when they open their account. There are all your fabulous ideas, in a sea of other fabulous ideas. Yes, it's cool, but really? It's Pinterest. It's like the fruity candies of the Halloween loot-yum and all, but still, not chocolate. not quite as bad as a bunch of part-chewy, part hard butterscotch discs, but not quite a Snickers.
Followers on twitter are people that: Follow you because you follow them, and want to return the favor, or follow you, I dunno why. Some seem to be peddling porn, which I'm not buying, and follow me, thinking I will follow them-but I'm on to their tricks. My blog links in to Twitter, so followers get advance warning of my mouth. Which maybe twitter followers think is the same.
I gotta say: It's not. There is something incredibly satisfying to log in, and see that I have new followers, complete with a profile and a cute picture. The other day, I got 2 more. TWO! That's like, the equivalent of a full size bar!! (I must be PMS-ing, sorry for all the candy references)
Maybe I am crazy-hell, I AM crazy, I got a diagnosis to prove it. But to me, new followers really make me happy. Like pulling a big bath sheet out of the dryer, and wrapping yourself in it, absorbing all it's clean warmth. Or, going out to run an errand like picking up more stamps, or grabbing some toilet paper on sale. Totally unremarkable. Then on the way back to the car, you spy a piece of paper on the ground. You pick it up, and it's an unscratched Lottery ticket. So, then you get the whole OMG-my-entire-financial-life-hangs-in-the-balance butterflies in the tummy, while you scratch it. And, you win, like $20.
What my over-medicated brain is trying to say is that having regular followers who commit to being bombarded with my blather on a regular basis totally makes me happy. Like, I-don't-have-a-bunch-of-crappy-medical-conditions happy.
So, do a sick girl a favor: click somewhere on my blog, and follow me. Publicly. Shout it from the rooftops that, even though I am slightly crazy, incredibly profane and amazingly troubled, you accept me for who I am, and are not afraid who knows it. If I can live with the shitstorm of crap I live with, and still see the brighter side of things, still amaze you all with my hilarious antics, I deserve a prize-and my prize can be you! But not in the meet-me-at-the-door-wearing-nothing-but-a-bow way. I think my husband might find that *a bit* creepy.
And if you already follow me? Link me on your Facebook page. Be me "friend" (Aimee Napierski Walker). Share me with your friends-but in a totally nice, sunshine and daisies way, not in the ugly gang-rape way.
Okay. I think that is it for the night. But you never know-I might get inspired to bother you some more. My husband is home from a looooooooooong week away, and I'm all giddy. Which makes me chatty. He might have other ideas, though...