Bite me, AdSense

I have discovered the secret to generating traffic to one's blog, and the secret is...liberally sprinkle the word (?) weffriddles throughout your entries. It's a world gone mad, especially since the mean forum moderators over at weffriddles (that's right, I said it again, come to me, weffriddles searchers) deleted all the help threads and started them from scratch. Mercifully, they did so after I lost interest (read: gave up) in the game. I am happy to report that I have helped TWO people with their weffriddles woes just today. What can I say? I'm a giver.

So, why do I hate AdSense? Because I, like so many others, dream of an income with no work. An income generated from the comfort of my couch, on my own schedule. This is the true American dream, money for nothing (and chicks for free, the voices in my head insist I add, although I am not a lesbian. Not that there's anything wrong with that.). Blogger tells me (lies, all lies) to add AdSense to my blog for fun and profit. What it does not tell me is that my husband accidentally clicked one of the ads on his own blog a year or so ago and got himself banned from AdSense. Himself...and everyone he knows. Or at least me. Because AdSense, my friends, does not know that more than one person can live in the same house. Did YOU know that more than one person can live in the same house? So many people live in this house, in fact, that I can go days without so much as seeing my husband, and I promise I was not complicit in his conspiracy to rob AdSense of $.00001, or whatever the going rate is for a click these days.

This leaves me with no alternative but to find actual gainful employment, as our property taxes conveniently coincide with Christmas. I submitted a letter of interest to an actual publishing company to write an actual book (!), but as I have zero published clips with which to convince them of my brilliance, I'm going to put just the one egg in that basket and the rest into a much more promising part time tutoring gig. Look at me, earning my keep. I've already been online, looking at all the new cloth diapers I'll be able to afford. It's a sickness, really.

While I'm on the topic of writing (I'll have to do a whole separate post on the addictive glory that is cloth diapering), I just realized I really need to wrap this up and work instead on notes for a term paper on women's labor in Latin America and the Caribbean. Don't ask.