I don't get very many forwarded emails to save dying children or increase awareness about something or to make money anymore. It's probably because I'm the kind of person who sends back a message, telling the sender that they just sent me a hoax, and I refer them to a website or quote Snopes. I always feel a tad guilty about it, because I'm the flaming bitch who doesn't want to help the little girl with cancer and trust the sender of this lovely, "helpful" email. I always think really hard before I hit that reply button, but I always end up doing it. I think people need to learn that all those schemes are hoaxes. I have never, ever come across one that isn't. At least with the Nordstrom's cookie recipe you get a recipe for a decent cookie. The email I got today said, "but for those who don't send it, what goes around comes around," except imagine about four words per line with four-five spaces between lines and four quote symbols each. It was particularly annoying for the number of times it had been forwarded without being edited at all, but mostly because it basically threatens anyone who won't forward it. What joy people who make this shit up get is beyond my comprehension.

I still get more than my share of happy, feel-good emails for friends, women, and lovers of animals, rainbows and sunshine. I don't know why people think I fit into any of those categories but for the women part. I'm a crappy friend, and though I like animals and such, I come across as more of a tough girl. Or maybe that's exactly why they send them to me. Every once in a while, I do get one I haven't seen before, and I might crack a smile, but overall, it's just not worth it to me. I delete those emails upon entry, so no one better tag anything important on them. I just gave up trying to get people to stop sending them to me. They don't listen. I think they're out to save my soul or something. I never forward anything, never send back the message to the person who sent it to me, nothing. I put it straight into the trash. I'm sure everyone thinks I'm a hag who doesn't like anyone. Just leave me alone with my cats, thanks.

Since I'm on the subject of scams and such, I saw a commercial the other day put out by the US Patent Office. It warned inventors not to fall for those advertisements saying a company will promote your invention for you. My first thought was, "Well, duh!" If those places aren't in the business to steal your invention from you in the first place, they want your money. Or maybe they want both, which is probably the case for most of them. At least, they might want both if you have a decent invention and not just a sharpened stick and a lighter as the latest hot dog cooker. But I suppose some people have a little more faith in advertising than I do and think that the paid actor really does want to help their inventive selves out. Or maybe, as I would guess, people are dumb. So the US Patent Office is spending advertising dollars to tell those trusting (stupid) souls not to fall for this scheme. It's too bad they can't take that money and just give it to the scammers. Of course, the scammers would still scam and still run their sucker commercials, and morons would still fall for it, so that wouldn't work. Scammer greed knows no bounds.

It's not that I don't feel bad for people that get suckered. I know perfectly nice, honest people get taken. And really, you don't have to be stupid to get caught trusting the wrong person, though I generally tend to believe that anyone who believes things on TV is a dope. Be it inventions or the ever-present weight loss aid, most of the time, it's a scam. Do a little research. Good grief, it's what I'd do before writing out a check to someone I don't know.

Everyone reading this is perfectly smart though, so I'm just wasting my time here. Suckers don't read my journal, right? And if they do, they will be so insulted by me calling them idiots countless times that they won't be back. From Now On� only for the bright readers. Yeah, whatever.

In other news, you'll be glad to know nothing bit me as I was cleaning out the fridge. It all went peacefully and is happily fermenting in the garage at the moment. I double-bagged it, but I doubt that will prevent maximum stinkage from escaping by the weekend, especially with the pleasant weather we've been having. But until I can't make it to my vehicle without a gas mask, it will reside in the garage trashcan to avoid borough citation for having my garbage in front of my house before trash day. It's not like we have a neighborhood covenant or anything (I would so not live in a neighborhood that did), but our borough is small enough that sometimes the cops get a little bored and anal about the rules. Lord knows I don't need that on my record, though it would be most appropriate.

There were several year-old wine coolers in the fridge that I've been bitching about ever since John bought them and put them in there. I don't like the things, preferring my alcohol in a more potent, less sissy form, and no one else that comes over seems to want them either. Of course, the idiot husband bought a whole damn case of the things, and they've been occupying the top shelf of my fridge ever since. I made an executive decision and dumped them. Feeling a little impish, I poured some pi�a colada cooler in the dog's dish. She took a couple slurps and walked off. Even she didn't like the things. They are that nasty.

Now I just have to wash all the stupid containers that held older-than-God leftovers in them, and I will have a clean, though still ugly, kitchen again. I washed the cupboards yesterday too, because something strange happened to me, and I felt like cleaning. Those cupboards have always been kind of nasty, and I never wanted to put the elbow grease into it to clean them. When my mother-in-law saw the house before I even moved here, she said the cabinets were much worse and that the landlord must have cleaned them before we moved in. If this is his idea of clean, I might just wretch at dirty. The house was built in the mid-50s, and I would guess that those cabinets were only cleaned once a decade or so. I scrubbed and scrubbed and finally got all the grime out of the corners of the handles and cuts in the wood. I still want to paint the cabinets, but at least they look a little nicer.

So now I have sparkly cabinets, a healthy refrigerator, and a bright carpet. Oh, and I have a dust-free computer desk too. Is this really my house? Yes, yes it is. All I have to do is head downstairs to be reminded of that. Maybe if I use the lighter part of my sharpened stick and lighter hot dog cooker invention, I could solve that problem. Would I really miss anything?