We’ve never met, yet you feel like you know me.  We’ve never met, yet you feel the need to read my blog and my Twitter stream and report to my ex-husband.  We’ve never met and I don’t give a fuck about you.

You’ve called me a number of things, none of which are pleasant.  Ugly, fugly (antiquated and lacking in imagination), fat, and so on.  I may be all of them but it doesn’t matter.  I don’t give a fuck about you.

I don’t care what you think of me.  There are a few people whose opinions about which I do are; yours isn’t in the top 7,000,000,000.  That’s billion, you retard.  Why should I give a fuck what someone I’ve never met or ever will meet thinks?  Unlike you, I’m a realistic person.  I’ve no clue why you’ve made me your project, but know that I don’t care enough about you to recall your last name.  I could find out by listening to podcasts from five years ago wherein I mentioned you, but I’m not going to bother because you’re not worth the time, energy, or thought.

Thanks for stirring the shit w/the Ex and the Roomie.  It helped a lot.  We resolved some things.  I resolved some things.  Those unwanted dreams are a thing of the past; now I dream in terrifically mysterious narrative that in no way involves my ex-husband.

I hope someone stabs you in the face, hard.  In the mean time, I encourage you to give me as much shit as you want.  Please complain to my current server.  Please “write” some more nasty comments on my blog posts.  Please realize that you’re an insignificant shit in which I accidentally stepped.

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

If someone had told me five years ago, May 2007, that in May 2012 I’d be divorced; that my beloved dog would be dead; that I’d have a “new” dog, one that as well as my beloved dog had been my mother’s before I rescued her; that I’d live in Chicago; that I’d live with someone who loved me completely; that I’d still have my little kitty, Joaquin; that my drink of choice would be vodka and soda; that I’d be encouraged to cook whatever I wanted no matter the mess I made; that I wouldn’t have to fight or nag for the simplest household tasks to be completed; that I wouldn’t be practicing law; that I would be truly and utterly content … well, I would have had trouble believing a lot of what that someone had told me.

I never thought I’d live outside California, but I’m glad I do.  I’m glad my life is so vastly different than what I expected it to be.  Studies have shown that the happiest people have pleasant memories of the past, are presently happy, and have realistic focus and plans for the future.  I had been stagnating.

Five years ago I thought I continue to be married forever.  I thought that while I wasn’t happy every day I wasn’t miserable either.  You know that thing about the boiling frog?  Well, I had been put in that pot when the water was cold and I didn’t realize how hot it was until much later.  It wasn’t until late May 2007, when I was out of town for work, when I had no choice but to go to Applebee’s alone on my birthday, that I was clued in to how miserable my life was.  I thought I was unhappy just because I was in a shitty little town, but when I went home and found myself not much happier I put things into motion that led to the end of my marriage.

Five years ago I assumed I’d practice law forever, because I had to.  If I didn’t how could I justify going to law school?  If I didn’t how could I pay my student loans?  I practiced the kind of law that made me feel like a tiny cog in a very big wheel.  I didn’t feel like I was accomplishing anything of any import.  I went to the office or I went to court or I went to a deposition and that was it.  It was worse than working in a factory because at least in a factory one can see the results of one’s labor.

Five years ago I never imagined I’d live anywhere but California, probably San Francisco.  I had bought a home in San Francisco.  I loved my home and my neighborhood, and I tolerated my neighbors.  Because the place was small, we had bought it with plans to move to a larger place when I was pregnant, or at the latest when the kid was an infant.  However, I was adamantly against ever moving to the suburbs, even for a prospective kid’s education.  We had been planning to have a kid.  Five years ago I thought I’d have a kid by now.  Five years ago I asked my OB/GYN if I should go off the Pill and use an alternate form of birth control so my body’s own hormones could do their thing.  I’m so, so glad that doctor told me not to bother.

Five years ago I couldn’t have seen where my life would lead.  I hope I’m just as surprised and amazed at where my life is in May 2017.

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

I am currently incommunicado so if you’ve tried calling me or texting me without response, please do not take it personally.  If you want to reach me, email me.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

[The following was a note I'd written on scratch paper and tucked into my diary in the early April 1992 pages.  Though it doesn't say, I can tell from the context that it was a note to Henry.  I was merely thinking on paper and never intended to give it to him.]

If I’d just shut up, everything would be fine.  You seem to be content for some reason I have to create problems to make my life more interesting or something.  I need to have someone to take care of, to care for, to help.  I think the only thing I really want from you is for you to let me.  But if that’s not comfortable for you then I would rather us stop this whole thing now.

I feel really foolish for saying what I said.  I hate not being sure about something .  I only know that when we’re together and you’re holding me and touching me I feel so full inside.  Happy and sad and every other emotion all at once.  I want to laugh and cry at the same time.  I want you to hold me forever so I know i”m safe and won’t be alone.  Maybe I should not tell you this but if you haven’t been scared off by what I’ve said and done so far, then I don’t see how this could do it.

No, I don’t want to stop “seeing” you but it might be better for both of us.  You probably don’t want me to become a pathetic and dependent making demands on you.  And I will get that way – pathetic and dependent that is – eventually.

I’m tell you to get out while you can before you feel guilty about doing so.  Because I don’t want you to feel bad concerning anything to do with me.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

[Continued from "Kasemarie, Part 2."]

She liked me until I stopped doing everything for her.  She liked me until she realized that me and my life wasn’t all fun and parties and going out.

When my then-husband refused to have sex with me because, he said, he was no longer attracted to me because I had gained weight, I called her asking for dieting advice.  Ended up the condom had broken when he had cheated on me and and he was waiting for the STI test results; he couldn’t think of a better way to avoid having sex with me because he was a fucking idiot.  [He already knows this, Shit Disturber.]

I called her crying that I couldn’t find my husband when he stayed out all night on a work night.  It ended up he was upset that not enough of a big deal was made over his 33rd birthday.  I was married to a child.  [Ditto, Shit Disturber.]

She began planning a trip.  She was going to take six months to travel around the world.  The planning took up her energy.  The planning allowed her to focus on herself, one of her favorite things to do.  Leading up to the trip she moved out of her apartment and put most of her things in storage.  She stayed with her ex-boyfriend for a few months to save money.

Staying with her ex-boyfriend allowed her to not only save money but also to be close enough to tell him exactly what to do.  He hired the decorator that she liked.  After the decorating was done, he hired the caterer that she liked for his housewarming party, which was also her going away party.

She left in March 2007 and was gone not for six months, but for a year, so she missed the really bad stuff in my life.  She escaped just in time because I know she wouldn’t have been able to handle being my friend through all the shit that happened to me that year.

Kase sent me a postcard of her skydiving in New Zealand.  She had met my friend who lived in Bangkok when he was in San Francisco so when she got to Bangkok they met up.  They hung out and made a point to call me; she claimed she missed me.

By the time she returned things had gone to complete shit in my life.  At her welcome-home party – also held at her ex-boyfriend’s professionally-decorated condo – I told her that my life had gone to complete shit.  I thought she would be there for me.

Within weeks of returning to San Francisco she had a new boyfriend, one who could afford to travel with her some more.  I was excited to meet the new guy, and a friend she had met on her travels was going to be in town as well, so I invited the three of them over for dinner.

I was unemployed with very little income but I still made a point to make a fabulous three-course, Whole Foods-sourced vegetarian meal complete with wine pairings.  I wish I had taken photos because it was quite pretty.

I was already nervous since I wanted Kase to remember how much she liked me, wanted her new boyfriend to like me, and wanted the new traveling friend to like me, so I probably drank a bit too much wine.  I could tell that the traveling friend didn’t like me, so I drank some more wine.  I was not falling down.  I proceeded to make the entire beautiful and delicious meal during the time I was entertaining and, yes, drinking wine.

A few days later Kase showed up with a note and sat while I read it.  It said I was a depressed alcoholic who needed help.  This was after she had seen me maybe three times since she had returned from being gone for a year.  This was after I had told her that my life was a mess.

In the note she offered to go to AA meetings with me.  I cried.  She cried.  I told her I had no intention of going to AA meetings with her or anyone else, or even alone.  She left my apartment, and left San Francisco soon thereafter.

We had borrowed earrings from each other.  She had made a point of getting her pair back because they were a gift from someone.  I thought I’d have plenty of time to get my earrings back, but obviously she planned to keep them.

I’ve written to her multiple times on Facebook; she’s never responded.  For a while she lived in Hawaii.  Now she lives in Arizona.

I know now that she’s one of those people who is only around for the good times.  She’s also one of those people who is only interested in what others can do for her.  At the time we met I appeared to be a happily married successful attorney who had plenty of money to spend on her (I bought her presents all the time.) and going out.

I’m being incredibly fair.  She had plenty of opportunity to let me know that she was “still” my friend.  I have the same phone number.  I have the same email address.  I have the same Facebook account.  She could contact me.  I’ve tried to contact her.

Kase is just one of several people who, by their behavior, made it clear to me that they didn’t have the time for me when I wasn’t shiny and happy.  Yeah, I was depressed, but it was situational depression; I’m not a downer all the time.

As a matter of fact, now that my situation is a happy one, I’m fucking happy.  Kase would deign to hang out with me now, but I don’t want her brand of bullshit.

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

[Continued from "Kasemarie, Part 1."]

Sometimes she was downright mean, but that was usually taken out on her boyfriend.  To me she was nothing but nice, until later.  Sometimes we paired up and picked on others, but only on people not in our group of friends; it was fun to see the weak ones struggle.

We told each other we loved each other.  It wasn’t sexual at all, though of course as girlfriends we talked about sex, and she was definitely cute.  She was very cute and reveled in attention from both men and women.  She was a flirt.

Kase was the kind of girl who went to boutiques.  She had fashionable clothes and shoes and jewelry.  Her makeup was alway understated – it perfected, didn’t call attention to itself.

Between the personality of being into me, and her sophistication of dressing and accessorizing well, I was completely charmed and totally into Kase.  She was fun and refreshing.

She told me that she was from West Virginia but that she had lived in Las Vegas for a few years.  Her timing in Vegas had been good so she bought low and sold high before she got the hell out of there, no place for a party girl to live for an extended period of time.

She told me that she had been depressed when she first moved to San Francisco, but now that she had a job not with a bank but with a non-profit she felt much better about herself.  She really seemed to like her job, which involved running a major fundraiser for the non-profit.

We went out often.  While I had no problem flirting and having guys buy me drinks, she was even bolder – she told  men to buy her drinks.  It was fun being out with her because every night was a new adventure.

She told me that she had lost a significant amount of weight years before we met.  I had a lot of trouble believing her for a number of reasons.  In the one “fat” photo she had she looked much the same as I knew her.  She didn’t eat – or drink – like someone worried about gaining weight.  She didn’t do much in the way of exercise to the point of being kind of fussy about sweating.

Nonetheless, when I asked if she wanted to join me in a half-marathon training program she said yes.  Once or twice a week (I can’t remember.) I rushed home from work on public transport, got the car, picked Kase up, and went to the Marina where we met up with a group and ran along the Bay.

On one of the occasions I picked her up she told me to stop by her dry cleaner.  She didn’t ask me.  She didn’t let me know ahead of time that we’d need to make a pit-stop so I could leave earlier so we wouldn’t be late to meet up with the running group.  I refused.  She whined.

I still refused.  I didn’t want to be late so I offered to take her to the cleaners after we were done running.  Her dry cleaner wouldn’t be open after we were done training.  I told her she should have thought of that.

Yes, this was our first fight.  I still think I’m right; I’m sure she’s forgotten it.  When I tried to use logic, saying she could have let me know ahead of time, that she could have asked me, or that she could have picked up the dry cleaning herself, she nearly broke down in tears.  She used my refusal to inconvenience myself for her dry cleaning as a barometer of our friendship and my devotion to her.  She actually said that there was nothing she wouldn’t do for me because she loved me.  It was dry cleaning, not a fucking kidney.

Things came up and neither one of us finished the training program or the half-marathon.

[To be continued ….]

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

We met at a New Year’s Eve party.  It was just as I was leaving with my then-husband and a few friends and she latched onto me.

We had talked some during the party, which was hosted by a bartender of one of the Tenderloin dive bars the Ex liked to frequent.  The bartender had borrowed one of my most prized books, Infinite Jest, and I went to get the book back.

I didn’t get it that night, but she assured me that she would give it back when she was done.  She hadn’t fully understood that she had gotten the book from my then-husband without my consent.  At the time he did a whole lot without my consent.  But then, I did a lot without his consent too.

I cheated on him, but not with anyone who could tell him or with anyone either of us knew.  He went out a lot.  He cosigned on a car loan to his mother.  Both of those were pretty easy for me to figure out.  I got the credit card statement, since I kept track of the finances.  I got the calls from his mother’s auto loan financing company when she didn’t pay the bill, since I kept track of the finances.

As became clear later, if he had known, with proof – though I suspected he knew I cheated on him in 2004 – that I had cheated on him he would have ended the relationship.  I had told him several times, including at least once in writing that I was fucking miserable and that if things didn’t change I would leave him.  I didn’t.  I continued to be miserable and I didn’t leave him.  [Hey, Shit Disturber, are you going to tell him about this?  Or is me admitting that we both let the relationship go on longer than it should have not incendiary enough?  Do you even know what incendiary means, you retard?]

That’s my own fucking fault.  We stayed together for a dog.  A wonderful dog, but a dog nonetheless.  I could have taken care of Otter without him considering I had for years before I met him.  I got Otter when I was 19 and still had her when I was 23 when he and I met.  He said she kept us together, which is very likely true.  He loved that dog.  I loved that dog.  He knew that she wouldn’t be in his life if we broke up since she was my dog before we met.

We went from the party at the bartender’s to a party at a bar.  It was after 2am but the bar let in certain of its regular customers because it was New Years.  We made our way to yet another bar.

Eventually Kase’s boyfriend got tired and wanted to go home.  But Kase was enamored with her new friend – me – and wanted to stay out.  He went home, she stayed with us.  Our final stop was our place.

A few days later Kase and I met up for lunch that turned into a whole afternoon of fun that included looking at places her boyfriend was interested in buying.  That day Kase told me outright that she wanted to be my friend, something I’d not experienced since I was a kid.

It’s a nice feeling to be wanted, and I fell for it completely.  Every time she saw me she seemed so excited that I was around.

We were quite the pair.  We both talked, fast; it was difficult for many to keep up with us.

[To be continued ….]

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

It’s been a while.  I’ve not been looking at OkCupid much and can’t remember the last time I met someone via the site.  But I took a look and there were over 30 messages waiting for me so I thought I’d do some sharing.  I’m generous like that.

Are you a tease of high proportions?
Are you good at reading people?

Have you thought of investing time in a mutual stock for volunteering at a local Arboretum of glass worshipping?
C.

How wonderfully nonsensical!  I didn’t bother to look at C’s profile because, frankly, I was a bit scared.

I’ve never read anybodys profile that’s so against the suburbs haha.

How’s Logan square work for you?

Points off for misspelling, buddy.

hi,

i’m looking for something not too serious and very sexual. i think you’re beautiful and seem to be looking for the same thing(?). i live in logan square. we can talk about infinite jest and patti smith if you want.

liam

I’ll admit that this one wasn’t bad so I took a look at his profile.  Not smiling in either of the two pictures, so I have to assume 1) he’s sad and 2) has shitty teeth.  Also he misspelled Galactica (as in Battlestar, something I don’t disapprove of) and seems to really like Bob Dylan.  I cannot fuck to Bob Dylan.

Hey gorgeous, So please tell me your pics are real because (1) you’re hot as hell, (2) you totally remind me of one of my ultimate hooks ups (so damn good that I would squeal like a dolphin), and (3) lets be honest, I totally want to make you my dirty little secret. Hit me up if I grabbed your attention. Happy to send a pic. Anyways, we should grab some drinks and make some bad decisions. Cheers.

This one didn’t look bad either.  As you can see by this one and the last one, I’m a sucker for someone who says I’m pretty.  Alas, this guy’s profile no longer existed.

hey. i’m adam. just wanted to drop you a note to say.. love your shirt =P

Adam didn’t seem so bad … until I saw his photo and saw that he lives in fucking New York City.  A douche bag who doesn’t know how to read, no thanks.

you are hilarious

Thanks, buddy, but what am I supposed to do with that information?  Not much to respond to.

Hi there,

You can rest assured I both have a car and live in the city (wicker park) I am laid back and enjoyed your profile. I would love to chat with you . Tim

Tim no longer had an account.

hey! i live in chicago & don’t own a car by choice & hate burbs aw well. how about we have a drink?

I took a look at this guy’s profile.  He had long hair, which I don’t like on a guy.  It gets all in my face during fucking.  But I looked further on his profile.  It said he was Native American and white, information that made me think, Maybe this dude has casino money, so I looked further at the income section.  I kid you not, it said, “More than $1,000,000.”  I have to admit that did make me reconsider, but then I reconsidered my reconsideration.  If he puts that on his profile then he’s either bragging – tacky – or lying – creepy.  No thanks.

I travel to Chicago often for biz and to see a friend. I would love to meet you for a drink this weekend when I am in Chicago. Perhaps we could meet at the bar in the Marriott off Michigan Ave.? And then I could treat you to dinner at your fave restaurant if we click.

Jackie
p.s. I will send you my number if you would like to arrange a time to chat on the phone.

I do like folks who breeze in and out of town for hotel sex.  The “see a friend” part probably had something to do with some woman the guy was fucking who didn’t have time to keep him entertained every night he was in town.  Alas, Jackie’s account was gone.

I just read your profile, and some of your answers to questions. I think we should definitely talk. I have an apartment in the city on the north side. Take a look at my profile, if you like what you see, feel free to send me back a message and we can talk.

This guy’s profile was gone as well.  I was beginning to think that it had been a lot longer than I thought since I last looked at OkCupid and/or guys give up not only on women but also on OkCupid altogether way too fast.  Pussies.

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

[Continued from "Staycation (Part 1)."]

I needn’t have bothered to even think of a contingency plan wherein I played the dumb girl – a role for which I am much too old anyway – because as soon as I asked to make reservations I was asked for a date. I asked if weekends were available. “Of course!”  I didn’t even have an idea of when we wanted to do our little staycation.

I picked a random weekend in early February figuring that if Viola couldn’t house- , kitty-, and puppy-sit then I had time to change the date if necessary.

Very soon after I confirmed the date, a Saturday night, I realized that the Sunday was Super Bowl Sunday.  [No, I will not be paying whomever owns the rights to "Super Bowl" for the privilege of writing that.]  I let Viola know – and the fact that I’m the one who let her know belied the fact that she gave no more of a shit than I  about the Super Bowl.  Apparently her boyfriend, who would, of course, be staying at our place with her, didn’t give a fuck either.  We don’t have cable so watching so our house wasn’t an option, though there are plenty of sports bars very close.

I had a class the morning of our outing so while I was painting pieces of silk fabric the Viking was packing.  It was only one night so he packed lightly, including only a few lengths of rope the Magic Wand, and a couple of the nJoy toys.  Oh, and there were some clothes and toiletries, too.

Viola and her beau were already at our place when I got home.  I assured them the bedding and bathroom were clean and all ready for them.  I showed them how to use the entertainment system.  I showed Viola where the animal food and such was.

Then the Viking and I, luggage in tow, hopped on and then off the train.  It was a short walk and just one misstep away and we entered the lobby of Public Chicago.  The first thing I noticed was that it smelled really good.  The next thing I noticed was the bank of Macs available for use by the hotel’s guests.

The architecture was a mix of old an new – think the Ghost Chair – so it looked clean and modern with somewhat ornate columns and moldings and such.  We found the front desk and checked in with a young, good looking guy wearing jeans, a black shirt, and a headset.  All the front desk staff had jeans, black shirts, and headsets.  They were also all young and good looking.

We were told about the hotel’s restaurant and bar, and the Viking asked about the coffee shop.  The Viking can’t go for long without coffee.  Well, he can, but then his brain doesn’t quite work right – it’s like him in very slow motion.  Very slow, as in he can’t really carry on a conversation.

We went to our room and were happy to find it very well appointed.  There was a back lit headboard with attached reading lamps and side tables.  Conveniently, there were also attached outlets so we set up the Magic Wand and phone chargers.

The bed was draped ever-so-delicately with a taupe throw so it dragged on the floor just so.  The side chair was placed appropriately.  The wardrobe was placed neatly between the window and television.  The mini-bar was full with the usual overpriced booze, soda and snacks.

The bathroom had a fun square basin.  I love hotel toiletries.  I collect them, sort of.  I take them from every hotel room I enter, whether or not I stay there.  The toiletries at Public smelled good and clean, which I prefer to overly flowery by a long shot.

I thought I’d take advantage of staying in a hotel and take a bath.  Unfortunately, the bathtub was about as deep as the bathtubs at our place, so while I attempted, most of the northern hemisphere of my body was never submerged.  I’d love to stay at a hotel with an unusually large tub …. and someday I will.  That evening I took a bath and used the hotel soap.

Like the lobby, the hotel soap smelled delightfully subtle.  I was happy that there were two bars for me to take home.

The Viking particularly likes me fresh out of the bath or shower, which is understandable because freshly washed bodies are nice.  When we first moved to Chicago the Viking would greet me every time I exited the bathroom after the shower and conduct an “inspection,” which always resulted in a nice pussy licking.  I’m not quite sure, but after a while I told him he didn’t need to wait for me after every shower, probably because I like a surprise.

It was no surprise that he was waiting for me after I left the hotel room’s bathroom since he didn’t have anywhere else to go.  He inspected.  It resulted in a nice pussy licking that allowed me to have a very nice orgasm.  He often tries to make me come again, which can be delightfully tortuous, but we had places to go so it was just one and done for me.

After sexy times both the Viking and I realized we were hungry.  We didn’t know the neighborhood so the Viking – never one to wander very far without consulting the ol’ iPhone – saw that there was a Big Bowl in the neighborhood.  We had a kind of tradition of eating at Big Bowl in Chicago since back in June 2010.

We walked to Big Bowl and had a pleasant meal.  The soup was actually spicy, something that doesn’t come too, too easy in the Midwest.  Everything else was tasty as well, but there was just a little too much for us to finish.  Luckily, our room had a fridge so we opted to take our leftovers “home.”

Before we went back to the hotel we went for a postprandial jaunt.  We walked down the street where there were many high-end shops and two salons where I had gotten full Brazilian waxes.  We were walking toward the lake, and it was getting colder and windier, as it is wont to do near large bodies of water.

At the end of the street, when crossing east over Lake Shore Drive would have put us pretty much on the beach, we opted instead to cross to the north side of the street and head back westward to our hotel.  It was damn cold and we were ready to get warm.

[To be continued ….]

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

I’m not sure who it was, but someone reported me as violating the terms of service of my former host, BlueHost.  I received an email letting me know that I’d violated their terms of service in a number of ways, specifically, Adult Content, Profanity, and Personally Identifying Information, and that I had 48 hours to resolve the violations before my site would be deactivated.

Mind you, they allowed me – Random Rim Jobs – to sign up with them in the first place and then  to renew the contract for a number of years, but let’s pretend like that’s irrelevant (it is not).  I think it’s probably the case that they don’t know what a rim job is.  Too bad, because they sure are fun.

I assume it’s someone who has something to do w/my ex-husband and his baby mama because the timing is very convenient to a bunch of shit that has occurred recently, including a comment to “A Wee Crazy.”  That comment was posted through an anonymizer.

Also anonymous was the report to my hosting service.  According to the folks at Blue Host, which is based in Utah, so I’m not surprised they don’t like dirty sex or naughty words, they don’t police the sites they host until there is a report.  A report there was.

This person, whomever he or she is is a shit disturber.  He or she trolls my Twitter account and reads my blog and reports to the Ex.  There will no longer be anything to report to the Ex, you fucktard.

Your bullshit anonymous comment on my blog has no effect on me, as you can see, as I’ve gone ahead and posted the comment.  You do know that I can choose what does and does not get posted to my blog, right?  I’m pretty sure you’re a woman since men don’t know much about saddlebags (which I DO NOT have), and don’t tend to use the word, “fugly.”  I have a pretty good idea who you are.  If I’m right, we’ve never met, yet you have some sort of obsession with me.  I’m flattered, truly I am, but you need to find some other hobbies.

My site is still up, now with a new host, and it will continue to be up.  I will write whatever I want.  Thanks to your shit disturbing something I’ve been wanting for over two years has been accomplished, so thank you for that.

Go ahead and report me to my new host.  I’d love it if you did that, Shit Disturber.

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.