I am not spamming you, really I'm not. Well, ok, I suppose I sort of am in that I didn't have the thingamajig in my DNS that should have been there to prevent the spamming, so blame where blame is due, but I am not sending the spam, just sitting here cursing the spammers and hoping their testicles rot and fall off and land in their soup and they don't notice until they have already eaten one and a half of them.
So, you know, if you get an email from me promising to improve the size of your penis (why is 98% of the spam I receive about improving the size of my penis? Are men really that desperate? And stupid?), I assure you, it isn't really from me. Well, most of the time, anyway.
Love and tongue kisses,
P.S. Hey, I'm 33. I find being 33 somehow reassuring. I've always rather liked threes what with the swoopy bit up top and then another swoopy bit down below, or how you have the option to make the top bit a little angular thingy and then add a swoopy flourish down below and make it sort of like a mullet except instead of "business up front, party in the back" it's more like "acute angles up front, free-form curlicue in the back." And also, I've always been rather fond of repetition, like I enjoy words with repeating letters or sounds or syllables (my last name has three instances of this and may be one of the leading reasons that I married Chris) and I enjoy numbers with repeating... um... numbers, and so being 33 feeds nicely into that totally reasonable and healthy little compulsion of mine. It also looks strangely appealing when written out as thirty-three. Thirty-three. See? Nice. So anyway, welcome to 33. Or, you know, welcome to me being 33, so glad you could join us.