You may have heard…bloggers live for comments.
They are just the best. They add richness and depth to the story, offer wisdom, information, and differing viewpoints, as well as giving us the positive feedback we need to keep writing – because every blogger’s Love Language is Words of Affirmation – why else would we spend hundreds of hours writing down our inane and unimportant thoughts?
However, even the worst comments are still the best. They always come from drive-by readers (never regulars), and usually have a certain flair of nuttiness that truly deserves an award. I shared the first volume of these a year and a half ago, and have been saving all new best worst comments just for you.
Almost all of my negative comments are left on my collection of denim posts. Since all of those posts are at least two years old and already have an insane number of ridiculously repetitive comments, I often wonder why people still feel the need to leave their thoughts.
As does, apparently, Rod.
At least he said “we.” Recognizing one’s own hypocrisy is the first step, Rod.
Dina disagrees with my denim conclusions and offered her own ideas about what the problem was.
Well, besides the fact that I had multiple models so as to not rely on the sizing issues of one specific butt, Dina will be happy to know that my new running muscles have “fixed” that problem. And now all my jeans don’t fit.
So I guess I need to try Gap jeans now and they’ll be all better?
Monica has another explanation.
I am so conflicted!! Who is right about my butt – Dina or Monica?! Does it need growing or shrinking? I’m going to have a rear crisis right here right now.
Neto felt the need to leave his wishes and dreams for all to read.
Thank you for your input, Neto. I wish you the best in your quest.
Lisa was especially angry. Because only especially angry people use the word friggen and misspell six words in two paragraphs.
Thankfully, I do not think my readers are too stupid to notice the asterisk and read the writing on the photo she’s referring to that clearly indicates it was meant to be satirical.
Thanks for being smarter than Lisa, everyone.
Eay felt the need to point out other problems.
Never read comments with such poor .period. .usage.
Sometimes people think the fact that I use the term “Mom Jeans” means I’m anti-Mom.
If I am lucky, I am already a Mom. As is clearly shown in my blog header and stated in the post on which you comment. Psh. Details, details.
Huma, on the other hand, thinks I’ve been living under a rock.
I have the commercial memorized and can act it out if you’d like (as long as I can be Amy Poehler.) But thanks for the education anyway, Huma.
But my favorite jeans commenter of late was Mike, who, it should be noted, speaks for ALL (good) men.
You heard it first here, people. Nicole Richie is what we should all be shooting for. And if your man is no good and you can’t figure out why, then you best check the tag on the inside of your jeans.
Besides my blog, another place that’s fun to get comments is on James Spann’s Facebook Page. As our local Meteorologist, he occasionally shares my sunset pictures, and he has a far better collection of nuts than I do.
For instance, this picture,
brought out the chem-trail conspiracy theorists. See the cross in the sky? Those are left by commercial airplanes, which the United States Government uses to spread poison that is going to kill us all.
So it should be noted that I am a highly irresponsible mother for letting my children sit on a hillside under such dangerous and noxious gases. When they grow a third leg and a second belly-button, everyone will see and believe.
And then there was this photo, which I took during the two weeks in the Spring that we have Japanese Cherry Blossoms.
It captured the particular ire of Misty.
Some tried to explain it to her,
Others tried to encourage her to relax,
or just move on,
but Misty. Misty could not be satiated.
White Jesus snuggling with a Velociraptor!!!
I was intrigued. Is this a thing???
So I did what anyone would do in these circumstances.
“White Jesus snuggling with a velociraptor.”
And what to my wondering eyes did appear….
Relief swept over me. Because if Jesus once posed with a Velociraptor, then my photo (that I distinctly remember taking and never loading into Photoshop) must be real, too.
Now that we can all rest happily knowing that the Velociraptor is so well taken care of, back to blog comments.
Once I wrote about getting a pink streak in my hair, and I mentioned the fact that Chris “tells” me to do whatever I want with my hair as long as I keep it long. I didn’t feel the need to spell it out that I willingly agree to this because I love him and seriously enjoy making him happy, but in retrospect, I see that explanation might have helped “ffff.”
Oh my, how creative of you to fill out your email address as email@example.com. Or will Ezekiel not allow you to have a real address of your very own?
Last Christmas, my kids watched a Disney movie that repeatedly implied that Santa wasn’t real. I wrote an exaggerated, over-dramatized post about it. One that Katy did not appreciate.
I’m dealing with it, Katy. I’m dealing with it.
I currently have over 15,000 spam comments in my filter (and I think it clears every 30 days.) I see almost none of these, but every now and then one makes it through. Almost none of those are interesting, but this one – this is The One in 15,000.
Not for the comment itself.
Just for the brilliant author name.
I SO want to meet “leggings Of the shadowy protector.” I mean, how thrilling of a job is it to be leggings for a shadowy protector? Does the shadowy protector treat his leggings right, never wearing them as pants but always covering his butt? And if not, is the legging’s print awkwardly misaligned on the rear, giving the shadowy protector the look of one leg (and butt-cheek) being longer than the other?
Furthermore, does the shadowy protector care for his leggings, making sure before every use that they haven’t developed one of those annoying yet ubiquitous crotch holes?
And are they pleather? Because I have a feeling that the shadowy protector might wear shiny faux-leather leggings. And call them his “vegan” pants.
And finally, why is “Of” the only word in the title that’s capitalized?
I will never, ever quit wondering.