Tips for the uninitiated spammer

First, thank you Fireblossom for sending me this hilarious lolcat picture! I absolutely LOVE those.

So I read the other day that some 97 percent of e-mail is spam. 97 percent! How much faster would our DSL be without that traffic poisoning inboxes everywhere? Sadly enough, the story also said that most people actually OPEN IT AND READ IT.

Newsflash, guys: there is nothing that will give you a bigger penis.

But in the good spirit of things, I have some tips for the idiots who keep spamming us at work:

1. When you claim you're from UPS and our package was delivered to the wrong address, don't choose a return e-mail address that begins with the letters "horny." (I'm not making this up.)

2. When sending mail regarding penis size, take care to notice that I don't have one.

3. Don't bother sending spam with pharmaceutical discounts. I work with these companies and if I really want some of their pills, I know where to find their discount programs. And no, I don't need viagra (see suggestion #2.)

4. I don't need any fake Rolexes, RayBans, or Gucci bags. Especially when you send to "Mr RK." He does not dress in drag, ok?

5. I don't have an excess of body fat, yellow teeth, or other conditions that need miracle products. Do you have anything in the way of bras that don't show nipples? Pants that don't show pantylines? Thongs that don't go where they shouldn't? Then we'd be talking.

6. I already work from home. It's called "working at home after work."

7. I'm not a mom, and I already have a degree, so I don't need to go back to school, no matter what you claim our president has requested.

Identity

There have been a lot of interesting blog discussions this week about race and politics, and identity. Intersecting with this is a friend of mine whose dad died when she was 18 months old. She never knew much about him because his family basically dropped off the map after he died.

Every couple of years, one of his brothers (her uncle B-) pops up out of the blue, promising to send pictures and memorabilia and information about her dad. He never delivers.

He made a surprise visit to her neck of the woods this week and made the usual offer - and as usual, didn't bring anything he promised (except his pain-in-the-ass wife, who always promises to be a real bitch. SHE didn't fail to deliver.)

This got me thinking because I've always sort of wondered about my own family's identity. And hence, my own. My family is a mixture of Apache, European and Irish ancestry. We have been kicked out or we have fled from nearly everywhere! Protestants in Ireland, Jews in Switzerland. Somewhere along the lines my relatives converted to become Lutherans, probably to prevent their own deaths - or maybe because they loved horridly boring church services. (I once had a Catholic boss who said being Lutheran was "being Catholic in denial." Aside from the more progressive stance on women clergy and birth control, I am inclined to agree.)

I've been insulted by people because they thought I was white and insulted by people because they thought I was Native, and I happen to be both.

I've been called "too Jewish" by hardcore Christians and "not a real Jew" by Jewish friends. Or those I thought were my friends.

I have lived in seven different states and Mexico, so I pause when people ask where I am "from." I have moved more than 20 times in my life.

I come from a long line of interesting relatives. I had a great-grandfather who organized the Milwaukee railroad and arrested Baby-Face Nelson (who was hiding under a bale of hay in an Iowa barn.) There have been arsonists, suicides, alcoholics, and even a great-grandmother who literally ran away to join the circus.

Sometimes I wonder, who the fuck am I?

I've tried to figure out where I'm "from," who I am, where I'm going.

Then again, I think, perhaps it doesn't matter, except for the last part.

Who are you? How do you define yourself?

That's the million dollar question, isn't it?

Hot weather etiquette

Let me start by saying that it may not reach 115 here (yet), but I am STILL entitled to bitch about triple-digit heat because I DID NOT SIGN UP FOR THIS!

There is a reason I live in the Pacific Northwest and not the Southwest or Southeast, or Texas (anymore.) OK, more than one reason (one of the others is that I'm not a Republican), but the main one is this: I don't want to live somewhere where hot weather is the norm.

Anyhow, you already know it's hot; you already know I hate it; chances are it's probably hottish where you are, too, and you probably dislike it as well. So I know you'll all agree with me that some type of code is necessary in these triple-digit times, because people tend, in some ways, to stop making sense.

So here are a few suggestions I have come up with based on observation:

1. Shirts are NOT optional if you are not on the beach, at the pool, or in your own house.

2. Rule #1 IS ESPECIALLY FOR men, and ESPECIALLY in public. Because none of you sexy guys go shirtless, anyway, do you? It's just you over-the-hill, out-of-shape fucks with way too much body hair.

3. Sleeveless mesh jerseys are also not an option. First of all, where did you find that shirt, 1982? Secondly, I DO NOT want to see that your nasty body hair.

4. What is the trend with shorts that don't cover a woman's behind? I'm no prude, but COVER YOUR ASS, girls.

5. See-through clothing isn't sexy on 90% (or more) of the population. I don't care if it's hot and you want to wear white.

6. Especially if you are fat and you come into my office. I don't need visual proof that you wear a bra.

7. Deodorant is mandatory - again, we're talking about the good of the general public here. I don't care if you are a hippie. Buy some. I have hardly any sense of smell and I was about to gag at Trader Joe's at lunchtime (and actually did lose my appetite for awhile) because a couple of you fuckheads combined au natural with 103 degrees.

8. Don't say, "Hot enough for you?" Because it obviously fucking is! What the fuck do you want me to say? "Nah, I'm thinking a trip to Libya would really do the trick right now. This is amateurish."

9. OK, this will never happen, but I can dream: can news media stop running 1,200 word stories on the front page that essentially say, "It was hot"?

10. As if I need to come up with more? Hyacinth Bucket would be proud for sure!

What not to do when you get a ticket.

The hoopla surrounding the arrest of Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates, Jr., reminded me of another thing I did when someone pissed me off.

Background: I am more mellow now than I ever have been in my life. I am a biracial person who some people mistake for a white person. When I was age 16-21, I was kind of a hardcore bitch when I didn't get my way. (Ho ho, you ask, what has changed exactly?!)

So I am in a bagel shop getting lunch. I am a junior in high school. I am apparently getting a ticket because my car is a few inches into a green zone. (To this day, I don't know what the green zone is - only that I wasn't supposed to park there.)

I run outside mortally embarrassed as a group of bitchy girls I dislike is watching from inside the shop.

I apologize to the cop and say, hey, I'm only a few inches into the green zone.

He says, too bad for you.

I ask, "Why don't you ticket the people who are parked in the disabled parking spots?"

He replies, "I'm going there next."

I say, I also can't afford this ticket.

He looks at me and says, "I can't retract the ticket now that I have entered it," displaying a hand-held computer thing.

Then he smirks. SMIRKS! And says,"And you know what? Even if I could retract it, I wouldn't."

Then I blow a gasket. "Well then," I say, "Fuck you!"

He steps back and looks at me skeptically.

I continue, "And I bet I know why you're out here handing out parking tickets instead of doing real police work. You fucked up and you got assigned to parking duty, didn't you?"

He hangs his head and says nothing. I take my ticket and without another word, go back to my bagel.

Looking back on this, I'm sort of surprised I didn't get cited, arrested, or something like that. But then again, I just happened to hit the nail on the head.

It was actually kind of satisfying paying that ticket after I got to tell him off!

Security 101

I do everything I can to avoid being on the phone when I can help it - especially when it's anything where I have to spend time on hold or talk to people who really have no information that I need.

So I registered with my insurance company to look up some benefit information, because when you call, the people at Kaiser always talk to you like you're five.

"You're with Kaiser now, so..." And I want to reply, "Yes, I know - I'm fucked!"

Maybe I should ask a 5-year-old to call and see if they talk to her like she's 32?

Anyway, you know how you're always asked security questions to confirm your password or whatever. Kaiser's first question for me: "Which of the following aircraft have you owned?"

Um - what the fuck? "None."

Second question: "In what city does S- H- live or own property?" And they were asking about my dad's ex-wife!!! The wicked ex-stepmother! "I DO NOT KNOW THIS PERSON!!!!!" OK, that really was the choice, but it didn't have capitals or exclamation marks, or the option of adding your my opinion (obviously.)

I find this very creepy, needless to say. When I think of Big Brother, I don't think of her, but then again, they do share a fair amount of irrationality and psychotic reasoning.

But strange things have been happening this week. I think the heat is melting my brain, although a slight respite today may have put some gray matter back. The other night I was trying to rationalize dessert for the second night in a row, and Mr. RK said, "I'm thinking of a word that begins with r, ends with g..."

And I blurt out, "Ratfucking?"

He started at me. "RATIONALIZING!!!"

We both almost fell out of bed laughing.

Speaking of laughing, there is an asshole in Lewis County, Washington, who owns this sign, which we saw driving back from Tacoma earlier this month:

I'm thinking two inches, fully erect.

Things I have done when people have pissed me off

After reading Pheromone Girl's post about her two-faced, asshole, builder landlord whose head is far up his ass (sorry, is that redundant?), I sent her an e-mail offering to piss on his doorhandles.

I wrote, "Really, I can do this!"

I *should have* written, "Really, I have done this before!"

Some things I have done when people have pissed me off, merely considering myself an agent of karma:

1. The doorhandles. They belonged to the driver of a Volvo who had yelled at me for accidentally parking in his (unmarked) parking spot. I apologized and moved my car, but he still kept yelling. I waited until nighttime, pissed on a napkin, and wiped his doorhandles with it.

2. I got dumped via e-mail - which was a novelty and a first in early 1999 - and the asshole wrote, at the end of his e-mail, "Thank you for understanding." I wrote back, "Dear M-, Please go FUCK YOURSELF. Thank you for understanding."

3. After getting stood up - mind you, I had planned a whole weekend with someone who just failed to show up - and having a friend who was going to visit a friend of this asshole, I sent her with a pair of goggles and a note attached: "Please give these to the next girl you make a date with, so she can find it." I kinda felt bad when I heard that made him cry - well, I felt bad for about one nanosecond.

4. Someone who bullied a friend ended up on the mailing lists for some BDSM and sex toy newsletters. At their work address.

5. Shortly after getting my first newspaper job, I was informed by one of the photographers that "the only reason you were hired was because T- (the editor) likes cute blondes." Never mind that I had worked my ass off to get that job or that I had scooped the New York Times while a stringer for a community newspaper in college! Later on, when I got to know the photographer better, I'd go back and flash him, and tell him, "I'm such a big feminist, no one will believe you."

6. Buying my car, I felt like I was getting dicked around by the dealership. I looked the salesman right in the eye and said, in front of my dad, "Why do I feel like I'm getting fucked with my pants on?" I walked out of there with double what he had originally offered for my trade in.

Finally - this wasn't my idea, but it was so great I thought I'd share - my late godfather, Irwin, got really upset on behalf of my mother when her office landlord (is there a thing with landlords?) totally fucked her over.

Irwin had some guys collect trash - bags and bags and bags of it - and fill up the empty office space to the ceiling in each room after my mother was forced to suddenly move out of her office.

Thing is, she had subleased the space, so nothing could be traced to her.

I miss him!

Too fucking hot

I was going to sit down and write about things being political at a work event, but I think my brain has melted.

It is too FUCKING HOT!

So here is my lazy, but extremely relevant, post for today (except if you live at the South Pole): a top 10 list about why it sucks when it is this hot so many days in a row.

1. Because it makes a cranky Riot Kitty.

2. Because when outside, even my partly Apache skin feels like it's on fire. I do not like this.

3. Because even if I park in the shade, and crack the windows, the car gets too fucking hot.

4. Because I dislike wearing sleeveless shirts to work. I don't know why, I just do.

5. Because I am running out of "extreme hot weather" clothing, which is only supposed to be necessary a few days out of the year here, but has been needed much more the past few weeks.

6. Because I DO NOT want to be on a first-name basis with the cashier at DQ, but find myself going there all too often.

7. Because it is 10 degrees cooler on the side of the office where I am not.

8. Because I did not choose to live in a hot weather area. When I moved up here 9 years ago, some idiot told me, "80 degrees is a REALLY HOT DAY there!" Ha. Not so fast. In Seattle, maybe; in Portland, not so much.

9. Because it fucking sucks to say, "Oh, it's ONLY going to be in the 80s tomorrow!" and mean it. I said this when I lived in Houston.

10. Because all manner of idiots want to come in the pool when I want to swim.

And I'm sure I could come up with many more reasons, but now I am going to go eat some things from DQ.

And speaking of language...

Thanks to D for finding this for me: swearing REALLY DOES make you feel better!

So the way I see it, if it can help relieve pain - e.g., when you say "FUCK!" after stubbing a toe, your toe feels slightly better - I think it has stress-relieving purposes, too.

As in, "I wish that fucking cunt would get a pair of ruby slippers and go back to Oz!"

Or whatever you like.

I think my affinity for swearing was affirmed when I was prohibited from doing it in a newsroom - a newsroom of all places!! - whilst male members of the staff could swear as much as the day was long.

Again, the ex-boss who threatened to fire me for language - the same one who didn't think anything of crying out, "Jesus Christ!" - just spurred me on. (I have to say, none of us were terribly teary-eyed when he got fired, because he was a fucking prick.)

So I have thanked a couple of bosses since then specifically for letting me say "fuck."

Have a fucking great day!

Pardon my language

I got this e-mail from my stepmom's mom, and just had to share it! Having made plenty of mistakes in other languages myself - including asking for tuna ice cream, asking my host father if he had an erection instead of an umbrella, and saying I was pregnant instead of embarrassed - I thought these were fantastic.

*Ninja edit* Darth reminded me of a newspaper headline from years ago. In Spanish, the use of the tilde - ~ - is very important. For instance, año means year, but ano means ass. There is a beach in California called Año Nuevo...and the newspaper headline read, "Ano Nuevo needs volunteers." I got a lot of good laughes about that one!

Never mind other languages...it's hard enough to speak English in the UK sometimes. The first time I went to London, my dad and I kept trying to figure out the laundry form in the hotel. I thought pants were pants (as opposed to underwear), and what were knickers? Somehow it all got sorted out...although the staff might have been confused by what we wrote on the form, which surely did not match what we sent to the laundry.

When Mr. RK and I went in 2007, we couldn't stop laughing at this sign, which we promptly sent to his friend Dave on our return:

Wonderful English from Around the World

Cocktail lounge, Norway :
LADIES ARE REQUESTED NOT TO HAVE CHILDREN IN THE BAR.
Doctors office, Rome :
SPECIALIST IN WOMEN AND OTHER DISEASES.

Dry cleaners, Bangkok :
DROP YOUR TROUSERS HERE FOR THE BEST RESULTS.

In a Nairobi restaurant:
CUSTOMERS WHO FIND OUR WAITRESSES RUDE OUGHT TO SEE THE MANAGER.

On the main road to Mombassa, leaving Nairobi :
TAKE NOTICE: WHEN THIS SIGN IS UNDER WATER, THIS ROAD IS IMPASSABLE.

On a poster at Kencom:
ARE YOU AN ADULT THAT CANNOT READ? IF SO WE CAN HELP.

In a City restaurant:
OPEN SEVEN DAYS A WEEK AND WEEKENDS.

In a cemetery:
PERSONS ARE PROHIBITED FROM PICKING FLOWERS FROM ANY BUT THEIR OWN GRAVES .

Tokyo hotel's rules and regulations:
GUESTS ARE REQUESTED NOT TO SMOKE OR DO OTHER DISGUSTING BEHAVIOURS IN BED.

On the menu of a Swiss restaurant:
OUR WINES LEAVE YOU NOTHING TO HOPE FOR.

In a Tokyo bar:
SPECIAL COCKTAILS FOR THE LADIES WITH NUTS.

Hotel , Yugoslavia :
THE FLATTENING OF UNDERWEAR WITH PLEASURE IS THE JOB OF THE CHAMBERMAID.

Hotel , Japan :
YOU ARE INVITED TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE CHAMBERMAID.

In the lobby of a Moscow hotel across a Russian Orthodox monastery:
YOU ARE WELCOME TO VISIT THE CEMETERY WHERE FAMOUS RUSSIAN AND SOVIET COMPOSERS, ARTISTS AND WRITERS ARE BURIED DAILY EXCEPT THURSDAY.

Airline ticket office, Copenhagen :
WE TAKE YOUR BAGS AND SEND THEM IN ALL DIRECTIONS.

A laundry in Rome :
LADIES, LEAVE YOUR CLOTHES HERE AND SPEND THE AFTERNOON HAVING A GOOD TIME.

I heart flowers

Be forewarned: this will be a boring post for you if you 1) don't like photography, 2) don't care for flowers, or 3) are expecting something with the word "fuck." (There. I didn't disappoint you.)


I took a bunch of pictures with Mr. RK's camera at the beach yesterday. It actually has a setting for "flowers" - and a little flower icon pops up! And yet he wants a "better" camera. Yes, I am married to a gadget whore.

I sent them to some family members and my bro wrote back, asking if I had altered the pictures or colors in anyway. Mon dieu! Of course not. I do not use photoshop or any kind of picture altering software, 'cause that's cheating.

My cousin wrote back and noted that these gorgeous little babies are probably due to the 7+ months of rain we get each year. Her mom is into horticulture, so she should know.

I love taking pictures of anything with really vibrant color - which is why I end up taking a lot of pictures of flowers when I go on trips. It's like nature's architecture.
Believe it or not, it was overcast, but there was the perfect amount of UV light to make these colors really come out.

Do you like to take pictures? If so, what do you like to photograph?

Wrong way

I'm starting with this picture because as nonsensical as it is - the entrance sign by the exit sign, very "not Swiss!", as my dad would say - it represents our afternoon yesterday.

We decided to eat lunch before heading to the museum. After two and a half hours in the car - trips always go slowly for me when I am a passenger - I wanted to munch. We went to the vegetarian place Mr. RK had looked up and - alas - it had 1) no air conditioning, 2) no interest in our presence, and 3) really annoying Bob Marley music playing. When it's 87 degrees, I don't know about you, but my vote is to change course. So a happy accident - we found a neat little cafe downtown that overlooked the South Sound.

Only problem: it was impossible to get back to the place where we needed to go to get to the museum. Which, maddeningly, was about 400 yards away.

First of all, we asked our waitress for directions. She replied, "Oh, Ken's the owner, I don't really get out much." No sign of Ken. She doesn't get down the street? Are you fucking kidding me? So essentially her answer was, "No."

Then we tried to figure it out with our map. The bridge we needed to use was closed, and the other way the map showed to get there was wrong. So needless to say, Mr. RK was quite pissed off at this point.

We called the museum. No one answered the phone. I tried the trick of pushing zero and it told me to leave a detailed message. What the fuck? "Um, hello, I'm lost on 9th Avenue and Commerce Street, hopefully I won't be here if and when you decide to return my call."

We drove around and around (and around) and finally found a side street that took us to the museum. Hooray! Arrival! Then we drove past the parking garage. Which they charged for.

You know how most big museums have signs outside, on nearby blocks? Not this one.

Oh well. When we finally did get there they had a surprise free admission afternoon, but we made a $20 donation anyway. The museum itself was surprisingly small - I found more stuff to look at in the gift shop - but they had a very cool "Bridge of Glass" outside. Huge sculptures that looked like giant blue swizzle sticks...

...and along the sides of the bridge, glass artwork encased in - you guessed it - glass...

...and at the end, overhead, glass art overhead that made it look like you were under a glass ocean.


Even the fountains outside had neat glass sculptures...

...and some interesting visitors.

We ended the day with yummy Mexican food with no nutritional value whatsoever. So I'm looking forward to the beach tomorrow, but today, I am looking forward to staying put and not getting lost.

What do you appreciate?

I am taking a couple of days off, for relaxation and anniversary purposes. I wanted to go to Vancouver, B.C., but Mr. RK was hesitant to spend that much cash while he is still unemployed. He wanted to spend a night or two at the coast, but I was terrified of too many tourists.

So we are going on a couple of day trips - one to the museum of glass, which is a couple hours away in Tacoma, Washington, of all places, and one to the beach.

Today, however, was a day for getting secret goodies for Pheromone Girl, having lunch with Mr. RK, swimming and renewing my driver's license.

Waiting in line - because the person who worked at the "Express" line was filling in for someone who was out on break (a loooooooong break), the woman in front of me remarked, "Hey, look at those teenagers just getting their licenses for the first time. They're the only people in here smiling!"

She's right - that first trip to the DMV is the only one you'll enjoy. (Unless you flunk your test, I guess.)

So that started me thinking - is there stuff I used to enjoy and now take for granted? Or vice versa?

Having lived on my own or with another person who dislikes cooking for many years now, I APPRECIATE it when anyone offers to cook for me, because personally, I don't like to do it. (Hint: I do not enjoy doing things I am 1) not good at, or 2) likely to accidentally poison someone.)

Having lived in a city where people were routinely rude, I appreciate it when people are nice or friendly. (Not too friendly.)

Having worked in a place where my anxiety had me on my guard all the time due to a sexist asshole boss (Peter Ellis of St. Augustine, FL, you know who you are!), I appreciate the fact that I have a kind boss. One who lets me say "fuck," even.

Having lost all three of my kitties within 15 months of each other, I appreciate my darling little boy kitties, both of whom spent over a year at the shelter. Who knows why - they're sweet, lovable, and so cute!

Having lost "friends" for silly reasons, I appreciate Pheromone Girl, Mike D, Shay, and the select few other darlings I consider my adopted family.

Having been totally fucked over or bored by every other man I've gone out with, I appreciate Mr. RK.

How about you?

PS The pic above was one from a trip to NYC that Mike D made neato with sepia and his artistic techniques. FYI, I don't eat hot dogs (this was taken in front of the famous Gray's Papaya hot dog shop in the Village) and I'm much thinner now!

Wardrobe (almost) Wednesday

What the hell, it's Wednesday on the other side of the country! :) And tattoos are a permanent wardrobe, so here you go.

Shionge asked for a picture of my star tattoo...pardon the goosebumps, I don't usually look like a lizard!

This one only took about 45 minutes to do, and it felt like getting a paper cut. Not so bad.

I thought I'd share the other one as well:

I brought in a piece of art from Day of the Dead and asked the tattoo artist to create the vine without the leaves or flowers (because I didn't want it too girly, and I didn't want to look like I was wearing a plant.) The outside part took three hours and it hurt like hell! I wasn't brave enough to do the inside of my arm until a couple of years later.

Something for everyone!

Mr. RK was looking at bikes on craigslist.

Then he came across an odd offer for a swap...with the purchase of a bike, apparently, the owner - who had a separate listing for porn (see ad below) - is offering said porn for free. But it's porn with a conscience...note the bit about bringing ID! I love how he (I assume this HAS to be a "he") ends the ad with "Thanks for looking!"

My great-grandmother was right...it takes all kinds of people to make a world.

Ten 'Dirty' DVDs Dirt Cheap! - $40 (SE Belmont @ 30th)
Reply to:
Date: 2009-07-03, 11:36AM PDT

So you have to be 18! & yes I will check...
All store purchases, most 4 hours or more, all in working condition.

Butter Me Up (5 hours-interactive)
Deep Intercourse (300 minutes)
Double Teamed (6 hours)
Fresh Teen Pu**y (4 hours)
My Little Pu**y (5 hours)
Nut Busters (154 minutes)
Spunk in the Bunk (4 hours)
Swallow my Co*k (6 hours)
Teens Love Co*k (8 hours)
Unreal Sexxx (4 hours)

Plan on bringing your proof of age ID.

Thanks for looking!

Guess what this is...

...and I'll send you one of the "fuck" postcards! Or something calmer, like chocolate.

Mr. RK took this picture and I absolutely loved it.

Any guesses?

Mollie Sugden served us well

If you haven't watched the 1970s BBC Series "Are You Being Served?", you're missing out on a hell of a lot of laughs.

Sadly, Mollie Sugden, who stole the show with her haughty attitude, neon hair and hilarious innuendo, died yesterday at age 86. She was a fabulous comedic actress and I am sorry I didn't get to thank her for all the laughs she has given myself and Mr. RK.

And I'm the only one!

You remember that line from Winnie-the-Pooh, don't you? (By the way, what the fuck is a "pooh" anyway? Has anyone ever explained that? If you can enlighten me, please post a comment.)

"And the most wonderful thing about Tiggers is...I'm...the...only...ONE!"

I use this as a metaphor. (OK, stop laughing.)Seriously - I think Mr. RK and I are truly the only people in the world who aren't on Facebook.

Even the lady I order soap from - who lives in a small, semi-rural area - informed me, "We're now on Facebook!"

And for all of you lovely blog friends who have asked me to friend you...I'm not a hater! Nor am I anti-technology. I just don't do Facebook.

So here are my reasons - my own "top 10" list, if you will.

1. The people I like know where to find me.

2. I have no interest in "connecting" with anyone I went to high school with who is now pretending *not* to be a complete asshole.

3. I have no interest in connecting with anyone from high school, actually.

4. There are enough creepy lurking exes and wannabe exes who have googled me and e-mailed my former boss at my former job. One even posted on Craigslist looking for me and my mother-in-law saw it!! AND he posted from ALASKA. Hello! What were you hoping to accomplish? Cyber sex?

5. I don't want to bump into (no pun intended) anyone I used to date or sleep with.
'Cause chances are, if they say, "Hey, remember?" I'd reply, "I'd rather not," or, "No, because I accidentally blinked."

6. They've had security and phishing issues. Enough said.

7. My boss is on Facebook. Our volunteers are on Facebook. Again, enough said.

8. It does creepy big brother stuff. I didn't know until today (one of our volunteers told me) that if someone views your profile, not only do they record that and suggest that you "friend" that person - but they also suggest that person as a friend to everyone in your book. Eeech.

9. There are enough assholes posting pictures of the kids they have just popped out, or their wedding day.

10. Let's face it, I'd probably get kicked off for using the word "fuck" too much.