Vox Fortis Communications

And people wonder why I’m a web analytics nerd.

Look, I’ll be the first to admit my web traffic is pretty sad. It’s not what it should be given that I do this stuff for a living…which is probably why I don’t have the time to put my mad skillz to use in my own little space here. That said, I still look at my analytics every day, because I’m compulsive that way.

I was sipping my coffee, checking out yesterday’s numbers, and was interested to see there was a spike. I was curious as to why, so I checked out my referring traffic, and drilled down to a particular link that was doing it. It’s an “XHTML Challenge” and there on the page was my friend Naomi over at IttyBiz vs. my piddly little site right here. You can check it out here. I have no idea what the stuff on there means (other than our content ratios, which shows right there why she has a much bigger audience than I do). I do know that even though at the moment I’m winning 7 votes vs. 3, I will likely lose because I don’t have scores of minions. (Though I do love my faithful readers, and you know who you are *cough*JuddandMichael*cough*.)

The interesting part is that you can see who started the challenge, and it’s none other than Jon over at Freelance Folder. (At least I think it is. It’d be a mighty huge coincidence if there was another “JPhilips” out there who reads both Naomi and myself.) I suspect that because he’s male, he wants to see a girlfight complete with mud wrestling, but he’s also probably smart enough to know that Naomi and I are the furthest thing from that.

Then again, would it get me more readers?

While I’d like to say I should kick Shane in the shins for giving me homework, I can’t. I’m still being a jackass with updating, so he’s giving me a reason to. It’s so easy to get utterly wrapped up in your business to the point it’s next to impossible to talk about it, and you find yourself staring at a blank screen, pretty sure you have nothing worthwhile to impart. Apparently, my strange habits have been deemed worthy of sharing, so it goes to tell you never can tell.
So, Shane’s asking a group of us to expose parts of our weird little worlds. We all have our quirks, and most of them probably don’t come through on electronic mediums like this. Without further ado, here’s a glance into my weird little world.

I can’t stand things that clang.

Let me clarify. Got a set of keys? Please. For the love of all things holy…do not jangle them. It literally makes my teeth hurt. A close runner up is silverware being clanged around. It’s my worst nightmare to be in a restaurant with a kid banging silverware together. My teeth feel like they’re getting the creepy crawlies. I have no idea where this comes from, it’s been that way for as long as I can remember.

Oh, and if you get the devilish look in your eye and do it on purpose, you’d better duck. Silverware does serve useful purposes other than giving me the heebie jeebies.

I will do 18 loads of laundry…and not put it away.

If anyone can explain this phenomenon to me, that’d be great. I start feeling nutty when there’s too much laundry piled up. Nothing makes me feel better than shoveling that stuff into the washer and getting it outta my sight. Then I drag my feet on the folding thing, but it’s still a necessary evil if I want to get through the other piles of laundry.

Then?

It sits in a neatly folded pile. Like, forever. I HATE putting it away. I have no clue why. My closet is nicely organized, but I cannot force myself to walk it from the pile on the trunk to the shelves in there. Rationally, it makes no sense whatsoever.

Then?

I get annoyed because it’s sitting there. So I start wearing what’s sitting out there to get rid of the pile. Months later when I actually look in my closet, I’m all, “Wow, I forgot about that shirt.”

Yeah. Wonder why.

My kitchen sink can gross me out.

There can be explosions of junk ALL OVER the countertop in the kitchen, but my eye will go right to the sink. To any weird little pieces of food stuck on the stainless steel. To any dark splash marks from the morning’s coffee that was dumped. To the ONE glass that might be sitting in there. Everything else fades away, and that’s all I see.

Consequently, I’ll wind up absolutely scouring the sink, and leaving the rest of the crap everywhere.

Don’t ask. I have no idea.

I am on the Most Wanted list for houseplant death.

I am absolutely horrific with indoor plants. I seem to do ok with the ones outside (which usually consequently fry in Virginia’s summer heat) but I should attend some kind of group therapy for what I impose on houseplants. They’ll be there, on a stand of some kind, and I’ll walk right by them. The poor things are probably falling out of their pot trying to wave me down. “Hey! YOU! Waitwaitwait! I’ll do it! I’ll jump.” And I breeze on by, oblivious to the leaf depletion that happens thanks to lack of water or a feline that gets the munchies.

So there you have it. I kill plants, I hate keys and silverware, I have an odd obsession with my kitchen sink, and no matter how many times I walk into my closet in a day, I refuse to take clean clothes in there.

Told you I was weird. Good news is, we all are.