That’s it. My email address of the last seven or so years is about to bite the dust. I am being spammed to death. I am going to try and do it in an organised fashion, but I know that I’m going to drop off some rather cool mailing lists *sigh* but it can’t be helped.
After lots of tweaking I have upgraded MT-Blacklist and it is siphoning off all my comment-spam very sucessfully – love it! If your blog is being spammed, check out BLAM – a project ‘dedicated to developing a non-vendor-specific solution to comment spam’. There’s my plug for this evening.
Poodles? I’m getting to it – though typing through the noise of ‘Alias – The Finale’ is playing havoc with my coherence. (M likes his J.Garner. Huh.) I have, over the past few days, been regressing to my previous incarnation of Girly-Girl. Queensland does it to me. I arrived home full of inner-city-Melbourne tram-savvy bravado only to have it slowly erroded by cockroaches the size of small dogs, spiders so big that they appear to defy gravity and mosquito/sandfly assaults that leave my Cocoa-Body Butter completely extinguished by Aeroguard and tea-tree oil. And I haven’t even got to the cane toad issue – mostly because I refuse to leave the house after dark; if it’s a necessity I venture out in large DM boots (for stomping – though I haven’t been brave enough yet) and stamp my way to my destination. I can hear them hopping away from me and it makes my skin crawl – ugh!
Now, I am so on edge, so ready to be attacked from all sides (I know, I know, huntsmen spiders don’t bite, or aren’t poisonous at least – it doesn’t mean I want them falling on my head) that all it takes is a leaf to fall on to my shoulder for me run screaming in the opposite direction. Loud and fast. I am hoping that my Girly-Girlness will become less with time, but at present I am the human equivalent of a bowl of jelly. Port wine flavour, preferably.
I am attempting to channel my rage at the cockroach poodles – I can’t squash them yet (I have visions of my foot coming down on one and it running away with me straddled across it’s icky brown back), but I do chase them and sweep them out the door. Ugh. I so took my cockroachless Melbourne life for granted.