I needed a bit of cheering up today so I decided to research my end of year blog stats on the WordPress admin site. I ignored the numbers and charts and went right to the juicy part: search terms. These words and phrases that curious web searchers type into their search engines never fail to restore my faith in humanity.
I proudly present to you the actual search terms used to find Picnic at the Cathedral:
- screw in penis
- naked seventy year old women
- post this sign on church refrigerator
- nude pictures with hair water flips
- women pee in bath
- please grab me some beautiful vary naked naked naked naked naked naked naked women
- boob set off metal detectors
- i love canned frosting
I think we can all agree I succeeded in reaching my blog’s ideal audience in 2016.
2016 was also a fine year for travel giggles. For example:
This display of shiny hand rails was randomly paced in the center of a sidewalk in Shkoder, Albania. As it was totally without context and didn’t appear to be attached to a business enterprise, HOB and I approached it as a profound work of public art.
As we don’t care to appear on YouTube performing body functions, we did not pee on any UFOs in Tirana.
A conference this summer brought me to Mount Vernon, where my BFF George Washington and I exchanged travel tips.
Unidentified Flying Dental Care in Tirana. (Um, what’s with the UFO theme in Albania anyway?)
At last I found the food of my people in Albania. Make that one Fancy Mania please.
American themed junk food also reigns supreme in the Republic of Georgia—like this delicacy from a Tbilisi supermarket—and it makes me feel so patriotic. I mean sure, my country may have just elected a racist bully, but hey as long as the rest of the world keeps associating us with hot dog flavored chips and Chicago burgers we’re at a net win, right?
Oh Munich, your pictographs wear the best Fedoras.
And finally, my funniest travel memory from 2016: this unfortunately named Albanian gas station chain. HOB and I were celebrating 20 years together during this trip and I knew for certain I had married the right man because every one of the dozens of times we passes a Kastrati sign and I made a joke about testicles, 18th century tenors, or talked in a high squeaky voice, HOB laughed, every single time.