We went to see The Grinch Friday night. Because we decided rather late that we’d go see it, we went online to find out where it was showing, and discovered that the next showing was at a theater in town. Neither of us had been there in quite a long time. Shortly after we arrived, we remembered why. The seats were small and cramped. We bought tickets from an older man who stood just inside the door – the theater didn’t have a ticket window. As we waited to go into the theater, we noted the people surrounding us. The teenage girls in their Tammie Fae Baker makeup and painted on jeans. The pregnant unwed girls with their crew-cut sporting, tattooed boyfriends. The family with children the size of small water mammals, sucking down jumbo boxes of popcorn. Yes indeedy, we were smack dab in the middle of the ritzy part of town, mmm hmm.
I’ve been wanting out of this house for years, but always promised myself that the next move would be the last, and so I’ve waited. Like so many neighborhoods in this area, the houses are so close that you could probably lean out one window and shake the hands of your neighbor were they to do the same. And as a special bonus, this closeness has allowed me to hear all kinds of things that I didn’t really want to hear. For example, during the summers when the windows were open, my college roommate and I got to hear all about how the next door neighbor’s son got his girlfriend pregnant – for the second time – and how he was violating his parole – and that wasn’t for the first time either. We dealt with the teenage boy next door who would crank his radio up to top volume, put it next to the open window, and then go to the garage. I’ll give him credit for always turning it down when I would go storming over, but you would think he would have eventually gotten tired of that crabby lady next door pounding on the door and complaining about the noise. We had the oh-so-charming children of another neighbor ask if we dated men, or just women….because apparently, even though there happens to be a large and distinctive college about 15 minutes away, the presence of two women living together in the same house could only mean that we were lesbians. My housemate and I got quite a laugh out of that one. What was pathetic about it was the fact that the kids were obviously repeating a comment they’d overheard from their parents.
I moved to this town a number of years ago for exactly one reason. Rent is much cheaper here. Okay, so it also possesses a rather impressive selection of gorgeous old victorian houses, but that’s often overshadowed by the fact that we are in a primarily blue-collar town. There are probably more discount stores here in this town than in anywhere in the surrounding counties. I’m serious – if you’ve heard the ads for any sort of bargain basement, cheap and tacky store, it’s here. I sound like a snob. Maybe I am a snob. All I know is that I am looking forward to leaving this town more and more the closer our house gets to being completed. And when I leave, I’m not going to look back.
So while we’re on the subject of cheap and tasteless….
I have a hotmail account for email. I created it because of a character I was playing on a Mush, but have ended up using it primarily for business reasons (and have had more fun than I can possibly say trying to explain the name of the account because it has absolutely nothing to do with my name and people give me funny looks when I tell them, but I’m digressing). Since it’s an online account, I get spam. Lots and lots of spam.
It comes in different types. There are the ‘Make thousands per day just by following this easy-to-use Multi-Level-Marketing scam!’ letters. There are the letters that ask if I want to get an illegal degree, if I need to borrow money (Fast and Easy!), and offering me hot deals on all manner of items.
But the ones that make me laugh the most are the emails for sex sites. They’re usually easy to spot – it seems to be a prerequisite that if you’re going to send out a porn-related spam, you have to misspell at least one word in the subject line. And so I roll my eyes at the messages and simply delete them without even opening them, having learned that if you’re stupid enough to actually write back to get your name taken off the mailing list, you have therefore told them that your email is live, and you will be completely bombarded with this sort of drivel. Oh, occasionally someone sends out a subject line that makes me think it might be legitimate, and so I end up reading one or two a month that have some trite little comment about so-and-so and her friends having a slumber party with video cameras involved or something – and usually by the first line I’ve figured out what it is and have hit the delete key.
But I’ll have to admit that this one got me. This one actually had me giggling madly into my coffee this morning, so much so that I had to save it. This one was worth subjecting on *someone* (and I copied it straight, so the grammatical errors are just as they appeared first hand. But then, I think we’ve already learned that writing skills are not a prerequisite for advertising porn…). Don’t you feel lucky?
From: spammyaddressTo: unsuspectingperson@wherever.com
Subject: Fwd: Does the Prince have what it takes?
There was once a Princess who was searching for a Prince so she might fall deeply in love. She came upon a swamp where she saw a frog. She felt a strange attraction for this creature. She cradled the frog in her hand and then she kissed him. At once there was a huge flash of bright white light and the frog disappeared…. only to turn into a handsome Prince!
She loved him at first sight…. and he loved her back…Yum Yum Yum :) He thrusts forward sweeping her off her feet. They embrace passionately. Then pause. She suddenly pushes him back and grabs the center of her dress with both hands, tears it open, splitting it down the middle instantly revealing the most beautiful manifestation of female he had ever seen; luscious firm tasty mouth watering flesh!
He moves towards her, removes the remains of her dress and …………….
FORWARD TO YOUR FRIENDS
Okay. Seriously now. Tell me you’re not sniggering into your keyboard after reading that!