SPAM a lot

As I mentioned a day or two ago, I'm having a little problem with spam. We lost our business mail server last week, and since it came back up, all of the spam filters seem to be MIA. To make matters worse, my own lovingly placed and much cursed over spam blocking rules are not doing their job. At all. Because I set them up wrong. Except I followed all of the directions, and that's saying something since I never even read directions until I have screwed something up 3/4 of the way through any difficult task, assuming from the beginning that it will be too easy to require directions. And then, you should hear me cuss as I try to figure out where I went wrong and fix the error. I usually recognize the need for directions about the time I notice that 3 of the 4 shelves on the bookcase I am assembling are vertical instead of horizontal. And it never fails to amaze me that something with one purpose is engineered to do such a thing.

But anyway, I am currently wading through over 1000 email a day. For the past week, it has been in the 1500 range. Not a pretty picture when one is juggling several clients with large contracts, all of whom think they are the only client, and all of whom think that every business professional in the known world has a blackberry or other wireless device which puts email at their constant disposal and therefore should be responding instantly to email at any given time of the night or day. Excuse me, but when did email become the telephone? And why haven't I caved to the blackberry yet? Right, because I don't wish to be cited for noise pollution when 1500 messages come pinging in all day long. No matter where I am. Because one cannot have enough instant access to Viagra while picking out books at the library.

In all of the constant spam for everything from chairs and lights manufactured in a German speaking factory to any number of fake designer handbags and shoes, there is one that strikes my funny bone all 895 times I see it each day. The subject line is. . . wait for it. . .

Update your Penis

Really? And what does that take? New paint job? Some shutters? Better light fixtures? I know, carpet! Perhaps one could install tile. Better landscaping? Clearly, I am in need of house updating. Maybe it's day glow tattoos that would do the trick. Metallic eyeliner? Or does that make it retro? Does one "plug it in" to the computer and have "software" updated? A little something that makes the penis aim better when standing at a toilet? I'm killing myself here.

How exactly would one go about updating a penis, should one be an owner? I'm certainly not about to open that email to find out. . .

Rebi's Dance Recital

Rebi's Dance Recital. Sorry for the dark photos. I think we've already established my need to learn how to use my camera. Some day. When I have time. HA HA HA HA HA.

Duped

I'm not a big fan of shopping. Wandering aimlessly around the mall makes me a little nuts. Picking through picked over fruit at the grocery store is tedious and frustrating. I don't enjoy picking out clothes or purses or sheets or dishes or shoes. Wait, I do kinda like the shoes, but only if I'm shopping alone for shoes for me.

However, regularly I am required to procure basic necessities such as bread, milk, and cute new shirts for Rebi. For some reason, she doesn't like to buy clothes over the internet. No matter how hard I beg. Which is why I found myself stuck at the mall last Saturday. And because Dave put Rebi's black dress pants in the dryer and they became black dress capris, it was our mission to try on every single pair of petite black dress pants in the entire mall. None of which fit, naturally. And she needed them because she was working at a wedding that night.

Having exhausted the options in the reasonably priced stores, we started on the more expensive stores, finally finding a pair that fit nicely and were under $100. Barely. Of course, Dad ruined hers, so he was paying to replace them. She loves it when stuff like that happens. I do believe I heard her begging him to do laundry more often.

But, she felt badly for giving him a coronary and to appease him, she wanted to pick out a couple of new shirts for him. I am a creature of habit, so we went up to Old Navy, found the ringer T's, and picked out two.



Plain simple T's, on sale, nice colors, what's not to love?

Until Dave tried them on, only to find that they were muscle tanks masquerading as T-shirts.



The ugliness amazes me. But more than that, I am seriously grumpy that I now have to go back to the mall to return the ugly shirts. Would it have killed them to have one on display? Because trust me, I would have steered clear. As it is, I'm contemplating whether $8 is too much to pay for a cleaning rag/painting shirt. Because I am that desperate to avoid a repeat trip to the mall.

I hate shopping.

Death by Food

Cheese Danishes
Costco Muffins
In and Out
Deli sandwiches (with vegetables)
Steak
Homemade Tortillas
Chicken Tacos
Cookies
Watermelon
Grapes
Cantaloupe
Ice Cream Cake
Soda
Lemonade

Memorial Day was a hit.

My stomach hurts.

Email is of the Devil

Our spam filter must not be working very well on the work email server.

I spent Friday night and all day Saturday helping with a wedding at our church, so I haven't opened email since Friday afternoon. I just checked my email today, and I am staring at 551 in my inbox and 906 in my junk box. Of those, there will be 15-20 that I need to respond to. . . if I can find them.