Cheeky Insights
35 Errors and a Viral Social Media Post: WTF?
We’ve all been there. You spend hours crafting the perfect social media post, choosing just the right image and writing copy that’s both clever and informative. And then you hit publish…and crickets. Meanwhile, someone else posts something that’s rife with errors, and it somehow manages to take off like wildfire. What gives?
The Ideal Word Count for Landing Page Content
If you’re hoping to improve your website’s SEO, you’re probably wondering the ideal word count for content on each page. After all, the more content you have, the more keywords you can include, which should theoretically lead to more traffic.
Why Isn’t My Google Review Public? You Asked, We Answered
Wondering why your Google review isn’t public? Although legitimate reviews are sometimes inappropriately removed, the most common reason is it doesn’t meet Google’s guidelines.
CheekySkirt Musings
In the Beginning…
I wrote for fun. In May 2014, I wanted to write more than corporate blah, so I created CheekySkirt – a blog devoted to the craziness of my life. I made fun of myself, my husband (easy target), my dogs, and just life in general. About a year later, I had this crazy, unexpected following. And then people who wanted to pay me to write started reaching out… CheekySkirt, the blog, became CheekySkirt Media.
Below are just a few of my musings. I haven’t read them in years… and I’m not sure I want to read them. But here they are… FYI, when I blog, grammar goes out the window. Love, Kate
prickly pecore’s pumpkin patch
Growing up in a tiny Northern New York town, kids get creative. Scratch that. Innovative. My friends and I – we took the cake. Or so we thought. It was late October, senior year, and we were feeling innovative. The air was unseasonably warm that night: perfect to...
conversations with kate
I so badly wanna take that midnight train goin’ anywhere. I think I’d go alone. Yes, alone. For the ride, I’d bring a Walkman. Not an iPod – a Walkman. When I want to hear that certain song, I must work for it and be patient through the fast forward. Be happily forced...
and then i woke up
I’d been here several times… 57, if you count the walk-bys with friends who had no idea why I’d diverted them from the usual route. New York City, 1970. October, early. There are still warm days. A gentle breeze disrupts my ponytail and instinctively I tuck the loose...
coffee. soda. worms.
Every inhale sends my heart into pitter-patter mode. Every breath, involuntarily, my eyes close as the scent of Adirondack rain courses through me and I can’t help but smile. My lids linger, closed but soft, until I get to breathe it in, again. This… is home. Rain is...
selfies, shaving and soul-sucking grays…
I shaved my legs yesterday… above the knees. You know what that means. Yep, clean sheets. I was counting down the seconds until my husband made the bed. Life. After 40. Immediately… immediately following the fresh shave of the first leg, I couldn’t remember which leg...
i love you
November 1st 2007, I said goodbye to my grandmother. Actually, I said goodbye to her the night before at the nursing home—knowing she may not make it through the night. I woke up to the phone ringing early the next morning. My mom and I had made the trip to Cape Cod...
sexism, laundry, don’t touch my vacuum… and all things husband
This morning, I fed cucumbers to my dogs. They—the cukes—were getting soft and I wasn’t going to use them but I hate to throw away veggies. So, my canine garbage disposals volunteered to take one (two?) for the team. Well, the girls are messy. I have a somewhat high...
look ma… no cuffs!
I made it 42 years without ever stepping into a police station. And let me tell you, there are many who just read that and are searching through their mental rolodexes to disprove me. Now, there was an ill-fated night at 16 when I spent the better half of an evening...
i hear it’s my birthday
I have saggy knee caps. It’s true. I saw them this morning. They almost fold over the knees, like an elephant’s trunk. I’d like them to stop sagging. I think if they moved up a couple inches—back to where they belong—it may ease up on the bathroom scale a little, too....
it’s not about me ~ it’s about the overflowing cup of coffee
Coffee. Hot. Black. Naked. Overflowing. I’ve been known to include a word or two, maybe a dissertation or three about coffee in my writings. So, my apologies, but today of all days I would be remiss if I didn’t at least do a small, teeny little ode to my favorite...
sunday porn
I bet you didn’t know I used to be a model; had a pretty regular gig, too. My showbiz mom would get the call, drop everything, brutally yank me from playtime with my friends and rush me down for my fitting. I didn’t mess around either; most days, they had me in...
mary poppins 2.0 ~ practically perfect at getting in her own way
Kiki. That’s what they’d call me. Who? My massive tribe of foster kids. Big kids. Teenagers. Attitudes up the wazoo. Pains in the tushes. Obnoxiously selfish. Teenagers. Mine, all mine. Utopia 2.0. At 44, I’ve figured it out. Shit, it took me a long time but I know. I...
pumpkins and country roads
I miss my friends. I miss my life. I miss the simplicity of that life, back then, when I didn't know that I would miss my friends. I miss naivety. I miss curfews. I miss innocence. I miss that night when he and I were watching Heathers and he kissed me – my first...
karma…the sum of a person’s actions, viewed as deciding their fate in future existences
Mom, do you still love me? Yes, but not as much as I did, yesterday. I’d accepted that... I needed to earn back the love I'd so brutally destroyed moments earlier. She was easy – I’d have it back, with interest, by noon. So, what was my wicked act that caused her to...
she had me at freddi
I remember the first time I met her. I had just started dating my now husband and had driven down to Charleston to see him. I wasn’t halfway through the front door when she asked me to play Freddi Fish on her computer. She was seven; his daughter. She grabbed my hand...
will write for shoes
I love to write. Writing, for me, is better than that first Christmas morning as a child, when you finally understand who Santa Claus is and you wake up wide-eyed at 5 a.m., run to the tree in all its gift-glory and rip through 20 presents so fast you get hiccups....