Dooce, Heather ArmstrongStop coming here. There’s nothing to see. This is not a Dooce Hate Site. Yet every time Dooce puts up one of her “Oh Poor Little Me” posts about how the InterWebs are being mean to her, people flood over here on a wave of Google searches such as “Dooce Haters”, “Dooce Hate” and, my favorite, “Why Do People Hate Dooce”.

Listen people, I can’t tell you. I don’t really read her. I’ve only ever written one post about Dooce. And it wasn’t really about Dooce.

You see back when Dooce posted about her bathroom remodel the entire Internet divided sharply along lines as defined as the Mason-Dixon. Either you luuuurved the remodel or you hated it. Both sides were ready to defend their positions to the death, hurling insults at each other like “Hater” and “Groupie”.

I posted what I intended to be a humorous post. Through multiple remodels in San Francisco and in Sonoma — all of which involved walls being taken down and furniture shopping that was NOT at Ikea — I never got a tiny fraction of the 400 plus comments Dooce did on her “redressing” of her bathroom. My point being, not to denigrate Dooce, but if you are burning to comment on a remodel, you need to look at one that involves sledgehammers not just namby-pamby Ikea shopping. I mean, we’re buying cow skulls and Kachinas and Old West weaponry for decoration. Oh yes, we are out of the suburban comfort zone. In any case, my (humorous) point was, there’s more fodder for comment here. At least there’s more controversy here. I mean really, Ikea is for those who are nervous about their taste. Nobody ever was considered “out on a limb” for shopping at Ikea. Nailing up a buffalo skull to the living room wall is for the brave!

Little did I know that my post would live on in infamy in Google. Seems every time someone searches on “Dooce Hate” my post comes up about five entries down. I guess it didn’t help that I named my post: “So Dooce Remodeled Her Bathroom. What Am I, Chopped Liver?” I was trying to channel Borscht Belt comedians. Apparently, I inadvertently linked myself to a notorious Dooce Hater named Chicken Liver.

So here’s the deal. Dooce was invited to the White House. Which I didn’t know about and didn’t care about. Except that suddenly my blog hits reached the stratosphere and they were all coming from searches on “Dooce Hate”, “Dooce Haters”, “Dooce Hate Sites”, “Dooce Sucks”, “Dooce I Hate You” and a thousand variations thereof.

If I’m going to write about a Mormon from Utah, it’s going to be Donny Osmond, an underappreciated artist. He is. I’ll go to the mat on that.

Well, goodness knows I could use some more hits over here. Left Coast Cowboy Land is truly an exclusive enclave for the cognoscenti. But the Dooce Peeps don’t stay around to read about terriers, fox poo, winemaking, eccentric British husbands, Mountain Lions, John the Baptist and gardening foibles. No, they show up looking for Dooce Hate, don’t find it and bugger off.

Well, if that’s your attitude, STAY AWAY. Besides, if I’m going to write about a famous Mormon, and I have, it’ll be about Donny Osmond. (About whom I’ve posted several times. I’m an unashamed fan. Even if that brands me as terminally uncool.)

So I realize, by the very act of writing this post, I’m getting myself even more entrenched in Google under “Dooce Hate”. But hopefully this post will rise to the top, thanks to the tags I’m going to give it. Then all you Dooce Groupies will be warned. NOTHING FOR YOU HERE!

Unless you are interested in terriers, fox poo, winemaking, eccentric British husbands, Mountain Lions, John the Baptist and gardening foibles.

In that case: stick around, set a spell, glad to have you.

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