I've been ratted out, boys! Cute and cuddly!
Did I ever mention that I hate MySpace? Yeah, well, like a moth to a flame (a really hot, beautifully-bright fucking flame), I fell into the MySpace trap. I created a profile. I amused myself with various tidbits of info about myself. (Isn't that what it's all about? Trying to make ourselves believe that we're more important or worldly than we are really?) All was going well until I got a friend request from someone I didn't want to find me because he could create all kinds of hassle for me.
Now, please, I know that it's not that difficult to "find" people on the Internet. But I guess I like being physically and cyberly (I made up that word) left alone, except for the occasional friend or two from my past. Friend is the key word. I had been enjoying catching up with old friends. All of my "friends" on MySpace are my real friends. I know everyone personally. The last thing I need is an in-law checking up on me.
Perhaps I should also mention that my home turf was invaded today by the same person. I got home from a really pleasant lunch date with my little girl to find a rubber tote on my front porch. I peeked inside and a pile of old clothes cradled an 8x10 framed picture of Michael Jackson...with a functioning, real nose. With a red leather, zippered jacket. Weighing in at a whopping 72 pounds. In his Thriller glory days. I laughed and laughed and laughed. Dan's family strikes again. Did they think he needed that and ratty T-shirts from when he was a teenager? Was it their way of getting in touch? So despite feeling a bit invaded by their proximity to my front door, I had a great laugh...and we got some bitchin' new wall art.