Blogservations, emotional diarrhoea and your penis.

And so it was, that on this day, six short months ago, a diminutive, sweet young girl from small town America began a blog about life in the big city of London...

Um...yea. I'm sure her blog is great, but if you ask me she sounds impossibly dull and in rather dire need of a good hard shag. Or seven.

Yes, dearest readers, 'twas exactly six months ago that Yours Truly burst - boustiered and randy - back onto the blog scene to thrill you all with tales of hedonistic pleasures and childless excess only possible from persons with dubious morality a finely tuned sense of adventure.

And one hell of a ride it's been.

Several actually.

*cough*

But lest you think me a complete bore for having actually remembered my six month anniversary - particularly as I have been known to regularly forget the surname of the bloke with whom I'm making out as I'm making out with him in the back of a taxi on the way to/from someplace fabulous - I should point out that it was actually you who remembered.

Well, okay, not you.

You. The one in the back. The cute one with the nice hair.

This morning, I awoke to an exquisite email from a reader, the subject of which read simply: Happy Six Months, and the body of which read: I'm so happy you came to the party.

K-yoot.

And, as I remember to check my email about as often as I remember to 'ring my mother' (whom I hate) or 'clean my car' (which I rarely use, living in central London), there were a number of other, rather less heart warming items in the old inbox as well:

- There was the usual hate mail. "You're a whore and God hates you (I'm sorry, who?) and blah blah I-get-sex-so-rarely-my-bits-have-actually-grown-over blah."

- There were a few offers of free stuff/requests to review products. Sorry, kids. I buy my own vibrators and this is not the home shopping channel. Though, lets not lie, if this was the Home Shopping Channel, it would fucking ROCK.

Wait. They've already GOT one?



- There were the standard few words of worship and/or undying devotion. One bloke actually offered to fly me to Abu Dhabi, at his own expense, if I would agree to spend the weekend with him. If only I didn't have this thing about "paying my own way" and "not being a prostitute". Pesky scruples...

- This weird weekly email service which sends me blog stat reports was there. I have no idea when or how I signed up for this thing, but it's sort of fun to look at (even though all of the info is available on my Blogger Stats tab). And how you ever noticed that as soon as you start getting a good number of followers, you become OBSESSED with watching that number creep up? I mean, I've always been something of an attention whore, but I think I prefer it the old fashioned way. With low cut tops and obscenely tall shoes.

*

**










* Photo of self (black top) and friend (purple top) to demonstrate entirely too much cleavage on display in public.

** As I look at this, it occurs to me that my clever attempt at retaining anonymity kinda makes us look like we're making out, which we're not. Not that I wouldn't of course, 'cuz she's pretty smokin', just that we're not. Also, you can't see my shoes but, trust me, they were to my usual standard: stiletto'ed and tall. Very tall. Shamelessly tall.


- Then there were some naked photos.

Sorry, what now?

I sh*t you not, my darlings, one dude actually sent me naked photos of himself to "cheer me up", post Spaniard Debacle. And I have to say, if it didn't creep me out so very much...RAWR. And um, ouch?

*

* Note, I cropped out his head(s). He did not. But rest assured, they were all equally impressive. I highly recommend clicking to enlarge. If you're not too afraid, of course. (And who could blame you if you were?)

And so...a summary of my blogservations from the last six months?

1. God hates bloggers who have sex.

2. If you want them to, people who read your blog will buy you vibrators.

3. Blogging will aggravate your tendency toward attention whore-ishness. (And inspire you to make up fun new words!)

4. If, as something of a sex blogger, you're ever pathetically spew emotional diarrhoea all over the blogosphere (my sincerest apologies, kids), be prepared. Your readers may just try to cheer you up... with pictures of their penises.

And yes, before you ask. I totally got that guy's number.

Who do you think you're dealing with here?