s t r a n g e cousin susan

I am the first to acknowledge this fact: numbers are not my best friends in the world, although we have recently agreed that I would not badmouth them and they would not taunt me any longer, and sealed our agreement with the age-old ritual of spitting a wee bit into our palms before shaking hands.

In fact, my best friends forever have been words and although my recent truce with numbers hurt them just a bit, they’re supportive of the new relationship.

What I’m trying to say is this: I understand the rudiments of numbers, although it’s not second nature to me by any stretch of the imagination and really never has been.*

But what I don’t understand is that top number…34, 408 hits? As in thirty-four thousand four hundred eight? For December? Maybe I don’t grok the simple concept of hits, then?

No, of course I do. I still don’t understand that number.

No, I don’t. And I understand that number now.

This is a picture I found on Susie Bright‘s website today, in a post about Rick Warren, who I had the questionable delight of spending Christmas Eve with this year. He was in his church and I was at the emm’s, watching as he pranced back and forth and fell more and more in love with the sound of his own voice the longer he spoke.

The longer he spoke, the less and less in love with him I fell, until I declared I would rather have gone to the Crystal Cathedral and seen the King Stag take his last breath as the New Stag took over the Southern California religi-pop theme park market. But that’s neither here nor there, except I don’t know what Obocker Obama was thinking when Warren’s name was bandied about to speak at his inaugaration.

Well, whatever. My invite to the festivities on January 20th has gotten lost in the mail or marked as spam and trashed, so I’ll just watch from the sidelines. Probably just as well. I’ve got to vacuum behind my washer/dryer, at any rate.

* except when something cosmic interferes with my normal brain-wave patterns and affects my ability-to-multiply-numbers-in-my-head and get-the-right-answer ratio. I almost had to leave work the last time that happened because it freaked me out so badly.