The Blues

The Other Rosie Jones’ses’s

On January 19, 2012, in Blogging, Internet, Writing, by Rosie

One of the wonderful things about this blog is that I share a name with two other amazing and renowned Rosie Jones’ses’s.

Tis a common name, one I love to write under in case someone finds my words offensive. Then I can lift up my hands in denial, shrug my shoulders and proclaim, ‘oh, no. I didn’t write this about my parents! I didn’t use the C-word in that piece of text or I didn’t write that raunchy love scene. That was the other Rosie Jones! Or the other one!’

In the following months, I can use my full maiden name to avoid detection by Funky, Chicken, work colleagues, neighbours, kids.

No. I’d never really do that. Words are like our thoughts. We own them and every time we blog, fanfic, tweet or write online, we’re leaving a cyber footprint that lingers (perhaps) longer than life. When you write enough of them, they are something you can dispose of, you can edit out, because you’re not too attached to them.

This is not about writing, though, but about Rosie Jones Conglomerate.

On the right-hand column of Fangirl Sings the Blues, there’s a list of blog posts that have been most commonly hit (on). It’s an ego-widget of sorts, something that I could go to when I’m wanting to know what’s been read and what might be considered a more ‘popular’ type of post.

Round Christmas time, I sometimes write about a character called The Britch (a combo of Scrouge, Bitch and Grinch) based loosely on a woman that I know who can turn feral at the sight of glittery tinsel. It’s often written in Seuss-like prose, just a silly pome of satire, grumpiness and outlet, not that it comes close to the divine Dr Seuss in amazingness.

The year before last, I called this piece of writing The Nudie Run. It was a short thing about Santa and Mrs Claus (going through the menopause) dashing about in the snow in the lead up to Christmas, frolicking in the newd.

Jingling bells, snowy bits, tiny baubles ensued.

In 2009, I wrote an entry called ‘Crabs Anyone?’ about the challenges of playing (fully clothed) crab soccer with the kids. It was pretty bland, not an infectious disease in sight, and it was a piece of writing that didn’t even deserve the clap. I mean, a clap of praise.

These two pieces are often hit (on). A google keywords analysis tells me that the entries are accessed with the accompanied terms of ‘rosie jones, nude, tits, crabs, std, bum, nudie … etc’, so imagine the shock when the surfer clicks on the link to this blog and finds Rosie Jones, nude is actually a pome about Santa and Mrs Claus getting their gear off!

How disappointing, especially for the more visually-inclined longing to access that other Rosie. Who has worked (to become) hard, only to find a link that flops to shrivel when they click onto Fangirl Sings the Blues.

I’m imagining this particular surfer thinking ‘oy, let’s get on ‘ere and havva look at some recent pix of Jonesy doing her fing for ‘er fans’ (not that all Rosie fans talk like this, ffs) as they tap into Google, find something they think they’re looking for, then poof!

Just no! So wrong. Who is this effing bitch with the old rock stars at the top of her blog, writin’ about crab soccer and sick Santas? Jaysus H Christamundo!

Although I wasn’t doled out the attributes of the other Rosie Joneseseses’ at roll call, some might say that the pen is mightier than the golf club. I’m not sure anyone would say that the pen is mightier than the peaks, but that’s okay and real damn titillating to think about.

I love sharing the interwebz with Rosie Jonesys of all different talents and persuasions. I’m sure these are women would enjoy doing The Nudie Run with Santa and Mrs Claus and that their own amazing assets would jingle all the way to the South Pole and back.

To the other Rosie Jones’s'ses’s in The Conglomerate and in my cyber life … thank you girls. I’d love to confab with you one of these days, and if you ever tee-off past this blog, please eye-pop in to say ‘hi’. We need to stick together. My internet hit is your internet hit as we battle the bulge of surf engine penetration.

To infinity, and beyond crabs. Hopefully.