Sexy Friday Night

What does a hott, sexxxy, sinnnnngle laydee like me do with a whole weekend to play?

Well, first she straps one on and then she begins to make noise and gyrate all over the house... doing it in every room, in fact... for FOUR HOURS STRAIGHT! I'm an animal, I tell ya!

And now you want photos, don't you, you dirty birdies? Okay, I'm not one to disappoint.

Here's my strap-on... ain't she a beaute?

And I really know how to push her buttons. Hottttt!

This pic just makes me ache...

...thinking about how her straps dig into my shoulders.

That's right, I dusted off the old accordion and totally went to town. We polka'd, we rock'd, we even samba'd a bit, I think.

Well, it sounded like a samba.

Taxation

I started doing my taxes at 11:30 PM.

I just finished at 3:30 AM, 4 hours later.

And to think, there once was a time when I loved doing this.

My other accomplishment today: I slept for 15 hours. Not straight... I slept from 9 PM to 1 AM on Friday night on the couch, then stayed up until 5 AM watching cartoons on TBS; then I slept for another 11 hours in my bed and woke up sometime after 4 PM Saturday afternoon.

I had good reason, I'd stayed up the whole night before shooting 3 reels of footage (3 - 40 min DVcam tapes, roughly 13 small 8MM reels on each) and fighting with 2 ornery projectors and losing several feet of footage to burning and other damage... funny how most of my filmmaking involves use of a screwdriver and tweezers to remove the broken celluloid from inside the projector housing.

So the 15 hours of sleep, when thought of in relation to my total lack of sleep the night before, actually equal a more normal amount of sleep that I almost never get: 7.5 hours per night. I just slammed it all together for a marathon, that's all. But now I feel completely disassociated from the rest of living civilization... more like a living zombie. And now that I've done my taxes, I feel disenfranchised as well. I'm also flat broke, but the state seems to think that I owe them $421. Ugh.

To end on a positive note, at least I'm regular.

My Dog Has Diarrhea

(...and Other Shitty Tales)

Today sucked. It just plain sucked.

Why? I'll TELL you WHY?!

1. Being woken up at 6:00 AM by hot dog breath after passing out on the couch at 4:30 AM and blearily walking to the back door to let the pack out, only to discover that we've all... all 6 of us, have trod through turds.

2. Still bleary-eyed at 6:01 AM and having to clean dog shit out of the pads of 5 sets of dog feet, as well as wiping off my own.

3. Getting in the shower and discovering that all shampoo bottles are empty and there are no more bars of soap in the house. "That's okay, I'll just pretend I'm French today."

4. Coasting in to the gas station on fumes and having to fill up the mammoth tank of my ridiculous minivan at the price of $2.49 per gallon. Total bill: $44.96

5. Driving downtown to a university "campus" that charges $5.00 or more in every nearby lot, even though my entire visit to said "campus" was 42 minutes long.

6. Coming home and deciding that since the afternoon is still young, I shall catch a flick at the local multiplex to destress. Getting popcorn and a frozen Coke and settling into a seat that is one row ahead of my favorite spot, because a pair of loud-talking (probably Doctor Who fanatic) freaks are already in my spot.

7. Having a hard time relaxing through film, because nerdboy behind me in my favorite seat keeps making sound effects every time someone gets punched or decapitated in this flick. (It was Sin City, so his number of "oohahs" and "zeeeeings" were countless).

8. Finally relaxing after the sound effects subside... 2/3rds of the way into the film.

9. Tensing up again after discovering that the sound effects were only being momentarily displaced by a whole different set of more subtle sounds: the nerd couple were making out. (Let me pause a moment and paint a picture for you using cinematic references: imagine "Doc" in Back to the Future making out with the mother from What's Eating Gilbert Grape? and then you will understand why I cannot get that image out of my head, even though I caught it out of the corner of my eye.)

10. Almost becoming completely unhinged upon realizing that there was some "heavy petting" going on based on the sounds and ...ahem... the smells. Yes, smells.

11. Lasting for a total of 11 minutes and ending with what sounded like a long, sucking wheeze, the sounds (and smells) subsided, only to be replaced by the gut punching sound effects again.

12. Racing out of the theater, not staying to watch the credits as film freaks like myself love to do, and getting to my vehicle in time to quell the nausea by "huffing" the hanging car freshener. (It's berry, in case you're wondering.)

13. Returning home after being away for 5 hours to let excited doggies out once again only to have them all stop short before traversing the 8 square feet covered in doggie doody between us and the back door. (Guess they didn't enjoy having their feet washed this morning by a grumpy, myopic bitch.)

14. Herding them around the mess in the mere square inches of un-shat-upon flooring and spend the next hour cleaning up. (By this time, I'd figured out who the sicko was.)

15. Locking up sick fido, letting others have free range.

16. Spending the next 7 hours cleaning up liquid mess from the cage and feet of the sicko.

17. Realizing that the whole house smells like ass... which is only slightly less repulsive than what wafted my way in the theater earlier today.

18. Being too terrified to go to sleep now even though it's 2:00 AM, for fear that the image of those *shudder* two will permeate my dreams in some fucked up way... like suddenly I find myself sandwiched in a menage a trois with them.

I could go on, I'm sure, but I think I grossed everyone out enough for one day.

Too Much Noise Makes the She-Creature Go Mute

Dear Jan--

Where do I begin?

The past 10 days or so have been truly eye-opening and wonderous in so many ways, really they have. I had no idea after talking to you for over 40 hours in the course of 8 nights would just be a prelude to the marathon weekend I was about to have with you. My head is spinning now. But not enough for me to take a moment and write this letter to you.

From the very first phone call, when you yelled "HA-LO SHEDDY!!!" into the phone, as if trying to get my attention across a crowded room, I thought your personality might be bigger than life. But after that, your voice was so much more reserved and quiet, except for your laugh, which boomed into my ear and forced me to hold the phone away from my head. I thought that was quaint in some ways, because exuberance can be stimulating.

Indeed, the phone conversations were stimulating, and in no way predicted the course of this weekend's time with you. I wonder now if I can go back and see any signs, but I really can't think of any as yet. Let me explain.

When I first saw you on Friday night, I think I was stunned and taken in by your attractive features, which your photos did no justice in depicting at all. For the first time in the history of my blind dates, I was meeting a man who was far more attractive than he presented himself to be online.

As I sat and looked at you across the table, I saw that you had the intense eyes of Viggo Mortensen and the full lips, jawline, and nose of David Duchovny. Both of those names probably mean nothing to you, but I know that any women I mention that to would swoon at the thought. On top of that, you suavely kissed my hand when you greeted me (and then again at the end of the night), also making for the swoon factor to rise.

So what could go wrong, you wonder? Let me recount the ways...

The date as a whole seemed to go well, except that it went on for 11 hours. In the course of those first 11 hours together, you made for very entertaining company... with the exception of the occasional racist joke. When it first happened, I thought it merely an error judgment on your part and put it out of my mind. But by the fifth racist joke (and my continued lack of laughing at them) in the span of an hour, I was silently praying for you to not say another word, so you'd stop ruining the mood. Luckily, the fifth joke was the last... for that night, that is.

Unluckily, it wasn't the last of the racial remarks. I understand that you came here from another country and couldn't speak the language and now you have your own business, but to complain about Equal Opportunity Employment and educational quotas when you really aren't familiar with the history here doesn't go over well with me.

Yes, it's true that being forced to hire someone less qualified for the job just to fill a quota isn't fair to the employer and may make for a subpar product, but this is more of a case of "one bad apple spoiling the whole batch," and in that I mean what you couldn't understand. If some people were able to choose only white men to be hired for jobs and for education, then they did just that... it was those bad apples that I'm talking about, not the subpar product that has happened occasionally after the new laws.

One would think that you --as a man who wasn't Communist in a country run by Communists for so long, and who was kept from acquiring an advanced education and higher jobs due to his political beliefs-- should be even more acutely aware of that kind of discrimination. But in this country, you are of the political majority and seen only as a white male, and so you are not held back in ways that others have been held back here based on color or gender.

Unfortunately, your sketchy grasp of this language makes it impossible to express this to you accurately, though I do believe that you are intelligent enough to understand if perhaps I spoke yours.

I'm generally a forgiving sort, though, and figured that maybe because it was around 4AM when you were speaking those words (and because we were sitting in a booth across from two pimps, who were openly boasting about their "bitches"... again, bad apples only), that perhaps the lateness of the hour (and the negative example sitting across from us) was causing poor judgment in the conversation on both of our parts. Perhaps I was judging your words too harshly, just as you were judging those with brown or black skin too harshly, too.

We had started our date at 8PM and were finishing it at 7AM, after watching the sun come up. I felt that it was not so terrible that I wouldn't want another date with you, and so I accepted your offer.

You called me at 4PM and were raring to meet immediately for another marathon dating session. I, however, had only managed to get 4 hours of sleep and needed time to regroup and get ready still. I met you at 6PM and again you took me away in your car. That might have been my first mistake of the night, but how do you tell a man so set in his ways that women are perfectly capable of driving too?

You began this second date by driving me past your old house where you'd lived with your ex-wife, and proceeded to get more and more aggrivated as you recounted the time you were last there with her... almost frothing at the mouth as you stated your desire to see "the house burn down with her in it." Here's a tip: this is NEVER a good way to start any date.

Then as we drove downtown, you got on the phone with your Czech buddy and began speaking... nay... shouting so loudly in Czech to him that I thought the windows of the car might shatter. (I know my eardrums nearly did.) At that moment, I recalled your very first "HA-LO SHEDDY!!!" phone greeting to me, and that's when I realized that maybe that really was your regular volume, rather than a nervous exuberance at that moment. Every time the phone rang and you answered in that booming voice again, I shrunk smaller and smaller into a ball, it seemed. Before we even made it to dinner, I had shut down and stopped talking entirely.

Oh, yes... your driving. That's another issue.

You drive like an 80 year old drunken tourist with cataracts. And that's you completely sober. I can't imagine how bad it would be if you'd had a drink or two under your belt. As we puttered along in the far left lane of the interstate at exactly 55 miles per hour --cars flying around us like we were standing still and drivers beeping and cursing like they wanted us dead-- I gripped the armrest handle for dear life, thinking that you were surely going to cause an accident, while I pleaded with you to go faster or at least move one lane to the right (please). You refused and laughed at all of the other "jerk" drivers. I am truly surprised you didn't get pulled over for driving under the limit half of the time while you crossed first the left lines, then the right lines like you were hoping to be tested for a DUI.

At least on the interstate I wasn't in fear of my life that an angry motorist would get out at the next light and beat you and I to death for your city driving, which is far worse. It was "not unbelievable," as you like to mis-state, which is somewhat cute (unlike your driving). Slowing down a half-mile before you come to a red light is not a good idea. Neither is driving in the left lane all the time when you're going 20 miles an hour in a 45 mile per hour district. I am not going to assume that all Eastern Europeans drive like this, because I have only one sample. I just hope if they do, they at least don't die as often in accidents, because they're all going well under the speed limit.

To make matters worse, you started talking about your racial "issues" again and tossing the N-word around like it was no big deal. I should have asked you to take me home at that point, but I kept hoping I could diplomatically point out why that was the wrong way to think and sway your opinions. Nothing I said worked, though, and I continued to grow quieter and quieter.

Maybe you were just talking to fill up space, because you're uncomfortable with silence. As we sat in your car, we could have quietly looked up at the stars or something, but you insisted on going on about your past divorces, even pulling out the voice-activated tape recorder you used to gain evidence against those women... WITH one of the tapes still inside(!)... the one of you and your last ex discussing why you two stopped having sex (again, NOT a good thing to do on any date EVER). Thank god the batteries were dead when you tried to play it.

To get you to shut up about that, I almost grabbed you and kissed you, but then stopped myself as I remembered what happened the last time I did that with someone, I ended up having sex with a wannabe dramaturge who didn't step out character of his "virgin fantasy" the whole time. Even when using sex as a distraction, I cannot end the idle chatter. So thankfully nothing physical happened between us at all.

However, in case you didn't catch it at the time, trying to crack-wise with me about the girl at the coffee house with the bright red hair was another moment where you not only put your foot in your mouth and refused to remove it, you actually shoved it in deeper.

When I told you the first time that my hair was that exact same color until last December, you should have stopped there and shut up about it. But no. Instead you tried for a total of 4 times to ask me, "Why does someone do that to herself? Get all ugly like that?" I assured you that the ruby barrette that I was wearing perfectly matched my hair just a few months earlier (same as hers) and tried to tell you that self-expression is everyone's right... perhaps she's an artist, perhaps she likes to subvert the dominant paradigm somehow. Your final assessment of, "At least you got over that now," didn't help your case. Perhaps that was just passive-aggressive payback for my previous comment about your music.

Yes, I did ask you rather snarkily if you could tell the difference between those songs, but you saying "Maybe you can't hear it good," and turning the volume up louder to convince me of the subtle beat differences --like where one song goes "doot-deet-doot" and the other goes "deet-deet-doot"-- didn't help me enjoy them more... especially not after being peppered with them for 2 nights straight. Regardless, I do apologize for the tone. It was a weak moment and I was beginning to crack.

I felt hijacked for the 9-hour marathon that was our second date. On our first date, I'd jokingly teased that maybe you were really a vampire and that accent was actually Transylvanian just pretending to be Czech... but by the end of the second one, I think I may have been onto something there. You had sucked all the energy out of me and were ready for more and more, while all I wanted to do was go home and retreat from the experience.

By the time morning came around again at the end of our second date, I was physically and mentally exhausted, and all I had to show for it was that I'd wasted 20 of the last 30 hours of my life with a obnoxiously loud, horribly racist, terrible driver.

You wanted to take me to dinner again today, but simply I couldn't stomach it. Somehow now I have to break the news to you that there will not be another date in our futures. On a slightly more petty note, I am relieved that I won't have to listen to more Euro disco beats any time soon.

As a final insult to an injuriously long weekend, I just finished eating one of the Czech candy bars you gave me called Tatranky. I can't understand what the ingredients are, but for some reason my whole body has just swelled up into a giant, splotchy, puffy mass of hives. Awesome.

Do I recall myself saying "Those Czechs love the absurd," a few weeks back? I think I did, yes. Guess I should have known better.

I still believe I have more in common with Europeans than I do with most Americans, but perhaps not so much in common with Eastern Europeans... though I'm not willing to judge a whole area of the world based on this one experience. There are ignorant people in every nation and, apparently, the possibility of me dating one of those people is much higher than anyone could imagine. Call it my gift... my curse.

So I will take my leave of dates for a little while, I think. It's a shame, too, because I have a total of 3 whole weekends free from kids here at the house and I could have a fantastically fabulous romp with the right person... but I haven't met him yet.

--She...

Survey Says...

1) Name the Last Four Things You Have Bought:
a new 8MM projector from eBay last night, THE INCREDIBLES dvd, dog food, and bottled water

2) Name Four Drinks You Regularly Drink:
water, tea, coffee, Miller Light

3) Last Time You Cried?:
a couple of weeks ago while sitting on my front porch and calling it quits with the recent man of my blogs; but I also welled up again last night hearing about a friend's struggle with post-partum depression... it took me back to my own

4) What's In Your CD Player:
one of Bill's mix cds

5) What's Under Your Bed?:
gigantic roll-out tupperware bins filled with shit I haven't bothered to look at in years... and monsters

6) What Time Did You Wake Up Today?
8:00 AM, then again at 8:00 PM after a much needed nap

7) Current Hair?:
I'm assuming this isn't a dirty question... so, uh, reddish-brown, medium long, and curly... just like a poodle's ass.

8) Current Clothes?:
who said I'm wearing any?

9) Current Desktop Picture?:
none; just realistic-looking fish swimming around

10) Current Worry?
lethargy, thesis, and bills... oh my!

11) Current Hate?
"our" current Administration, Atlanta's fucking rush-hour that lasts all damn day long!, and the fact that I'm wasting the peak sexual years of my life left to my own "devices"

12) Favorite Place To Be?:
empty movie theater in the middle of a weekday afternoon; or, inside my head, where music and unicorns play 24/7

13) Least Favorite Place?:
alone in a packed movie theater on a date night; or, alone in bed

14) If You Could Play An Instrument?:
having already mastered the skin flute, I'll say the accordion sitting in my bedroom and gathering dust would be a good start

16) How Tall Are You?:
5'11" ... 5'5" without the afro

17) Favorite quote:
"Probably the worst thing about having King Kong go rampid in your town would be the huge, monster genitalia." --Jack Handey

18) One Person From Your Past You Wish You Could Go Back And Talk To:
there are so many people I've lost track of and wish I could find (and believe me, I've tried)... I guess I'd have to say Roberta Ross, who was my first best friend... where are you Berta?

19) Favorite Day?:
Arbor Day (trees need love too)

20) Where Would You Like To Go?:
since I've already been to Hell and back, I'll say Denver to see my friend's new baby, Korea to see another friend, and DC to visit yet another

21) Where do you want to live when you get married?:
happily ever after... I don't care where

22) Favorite food?:
sushi... hell, just give me some seaweed wraps and I'll roll just about anything up in them and eat it (I said "just about anything")

23) Color of most clothes you own?:
mostly black; also dark purple, dark red, and brown

25) What do you wear when you go to sleep?:
kids home: whatever I pass out in, sometimes I manage to get my pants off; kids away: depends on whether or not someone else manages to get my pants off!

26) What were you doing 12AM last night?
ending an IM conversation with someone intruiguing

27) How old will you be in 10 yrs:
308 in dog years

28) What do you think you'll be doing in 10 years?:
still working in film/television, traveling a lot in my free time

29) Do you have braces?:
not in the last 20 years, no

30) Are you paranoid?:
only the paranoid survive

31) Do you burn or tan?:
I rarely ever go in the sun anymore, but when I do, I have the ability to tan so darkly that other ethnicities mistake me for one of them

32) What is the brand of your wallet?:
who buys branded wallets? my "brand" is called "free" as in it's the free one that came with some purse I once bought, which itself was only slightly more expensive than "free"

33) First piercing/tattoo?:
Ears, age 7... when I grow up, I'll get a tattoo

34) First enemy?:
I don't try to make any enemies, but they do seem to find me from time to time... I think the first one was a girl named Marsha who told everyone in my neighborhood some viciously stupid stuff about me when I was 7 or 8... I told my mom, she got mad and called Marsha's mom, Marsha's mom marched Marsha's freshly tanned little butt over to my house to give me an apology... we were friends again a couple months later... girls can be so stupid and cruel to one another.

35) Last person you yelled at?:
probably one of the kids just to be heard over their constant din

36) Last crush?:
it's been a while since I've had any crushes... other than that constant fantasy that I'll one day end up in the middle of a Viggo Mortensen/Vince Vaughn sandwich

37) Last thing you ate?
some ham and carrots (boring, I know). come to think of it, I'm pretty hungry again.

Thots on Bots

So yeah, I went to see ROBOTS on its opening Friday night, rather than go out drinking with friends. What can I say? I'm just THAT secure with my hipness, dude.

The film itself was cute, well made, and yet empty. It stole from every movie possible, but in a quaint "homage" sort of way. Unfortunately, that was the only thing that made the movie worth seeing, because the story wasn't there. I would just like to take a moment and admit that my absolute favorite part of the whole thing was the fart scene... but then, I'm a big softy for fart sounds, what can I say. It brought a tear or two to my eye... after I laughed harder than I ever expected.

But as any of you know, I don't review movies. I review movie-going experiences. It's a small niche market that I'm trying to cover myself, whether any of you give a shit or not.

I went to the theater that night not alone, as my other blogs have depicted me, but with my younger two children. If anyone was wondering, their reviews were, "It had funny parts;" "I'd watch it again, I guess;" "Can we go now? I gotta pee;" and "The big thing in the lobby for HITCHIKER'S GUIDE was cooler than this movie... can we go stand and look at it for a while?" And we did.

One extremely rotund nerd decided to sit directly behind us. I love the seats at the local AMC, because the backs are so high that you can't see the people behind or in front of you. But I learned that this particular specimen was behind us because the gravitational forces began to alter and when I spilled some candy, the pieces immediately joined the other satellites he had circling his girth.

I'm sorry. That's just petty and snarky.

How about some more? Okay!

He was extremely excited to be at this particular film. He chatted animatedly to all that sat near him, even though he came completely alone. I soon found out why.

Of course, this ROBOTS movie had the trailer for the new STAR WARS movie, which meant that it attracted full-on, hardcore nerds to fill the seats... like the one sitting behind us. He "oohed" and "ahed" the whole way through, and when it was over, I think he may have wet himself. He also gave this odd high-pitched laugh, though the trailer was not funny, that sounded like, "nyuk nyuk mmmmnyuk nuh uh.... uh."

During the 'Bots flick, the laughter from this huge guy increased to such a frenzied pace that it sounded like a squeaky sounding, conjuring images in my head of Flipper mating with Chip 'n Dale. He stopped laughing about halfway through the movie. I wondered if anyone checked him for a pulse... I later heard him snore, so I guess he was okay.

The fun part of the night was watching the exodus of nerds BEFORE the movie started. I'm talking about the variety who pay to see a movie only to catch the new trailer, in this case... STAR WARS. My 9-year-old son heckled them as they snuck out. I quietly reprimaned him with, "Your older brother will be just like those nerds some day. Learn some tolerance, my man."

I'm such a good parent... nuture them when they're present; make fun of them when they're away. Jeez.

There's really no point to this "movie review" entry, which makes it truly perfect for the movie itself. It was the cinematic equivalent of a twinkie, and on that note, I'm going to scavenge for snacks.

Wait, wait, wait... did I just hear there's a new Monty Python movie coming out?

Damn, there goes my nerd-dissing credibility. I guess here is where I should admit that I sat through that intolerable OC show on Fox Thursday night just to catch the STAR WARS trailer for the first time before it hit the theaters... sitting there, hanging on every fucking commercial... waiting for a mere glimpse or hint that Lucas may have NOT screwed up this last ever episode... hoping to see some more baaadaaasss Yoda butt-kicking action... wishing I could have worked on any of the films, regardless of their aaactual badness.

I need a 12-step program.

I Can't Make This Sh*t Up

So last night, I go out with Bill to his favorite dive bar. Aside from getting some of the best/worst pick-up lines ever from one of the bartenders there, who totally hooked Bill up with the drinks... I mean, between us we had about 15 beers and 4 Pootie Tangs/Booty Calls (Jager and shit) for a final tally of only $33. There's no way that we only did $33 worth of damage last night. Where was I? Oh yeah, so one of Bill's friends brought some Absinthe with him too and kept it out of in the car and I was asked if I'd like to try some.

I ask you people... do you think for a second that I'm going to do stupid shit, like go out into a dive bar's parking lot and sit in the car of a guy I do not know and drink from a bottle of Absinthe (or who knows what) after I've already had 2 shots of Jager and a few beers?

The answer is yes, yes I am that kind of stupid girl.

So last night I had about 3 shots of Absinthe. We sat in the car and tried to do it up right: slotted spoon, sugar cube, lighter, trying to carmelize the cube. Guess what? Bic lighters suck for that. Where's a REAL druggie when you need one? As we sat there, I imagined a cop pulling up and tapping on the window and me saying, "Honestly, officer, we're just carmelizing sugar... stick around, cuz we're making s'mores next!" I wondered if anyone ever caught Julia Child doing that in her car late at night.

Long story short, even with 2 shots of Jager under my belt, there were no hallucinations at all. Of course, Absinthe has wormwood which containes thujone, but really so does vermouth. There is absolutely no reason for this stuff to be banned... except that it tastes like shit. I did have an instant numbing of my gums and throat, and when I took a sip of beer shortly afterwards, it curdled. Tip: don't follow Absinthe with Miller Light. Another tip: Absinthe tastes like S.H.I.T., did I mention that already? Like black licorice soaked in men's Polo cologne.

Alas, no weird things happened last night as a result of drinking the bright green liquor.

Now, that said, I am having some weird things happening today that I'm wondering are due to whatever the hell is in that firewater. My vision has been totally fucked up today and I kept having flashes of what looked like videotape drop out occasionally when I blinked. Oh, and my right arm and leg both kept alternating going numb. Also, everywhere I went today, shoes or no shoes, I keep getting shocked by everything metal. Maybe that's just part of my normal weirdness though.

In addition to all of that weirdness, one of the many dating websites that I've put a profile on has freaked out on me today. This makes the second time it's happened, only the first time was at Snatch Rot Bomb and that's how I met my last beau... when a glitch in the system activated my hidden profile there and people started to write to me, including him.

This time, it's at a different place and on a much grander scale. I mean, in the course of today alone, I've received over 80 emails and free winks from men saying, "I got your wink... WOW. I'd love to hear more..." blah blah blah. It's fucking weird. I've been browsed there over 3000 times today alone, so that tells me that there are far more men who got the same thing from "me" and haven't even responded. I'm thinking that quite possibly the whole population of men on that site received something from "me" today. I posted a message on that profile there telling them about the glitch (or possible hack job) and yet the messages still keep rolling in from them. It wasn't a site that I was really all that keen on using, so I may just have to delete myself from there.

Never a dull moment.