My would-be-stalker has fucked up.
See, if you ever think your email has been hacked, don’t just change the password — change the display name so that when someone receives an email from you, it says it’s from a new name.
Like, let’s say my emails would show up as being received from Smurfette Davies. Well, this morning, when I changed my password, I changed the display name.
Stalker wouldn’t know this.
So, when I got another email supposedly from my account today — but with my OLD display name showing — I had the proof I needed that he hadn’t hacked my account.
But instead went and broke the law. ‘Cause, faking emails is, like, illegal. Doh!
It’s a real shame, too, that I have his IP address and I know what ISP he uses in his wacky little town out there in the Valley. You grow corn, too, pal, like your neighbours? I even know what browser he uses. Konqueror, no? I guess you’d want to use that… since you need Linux to fake emails.
So, you reading me, Stalker?
Stalker fucked up twice. The second time was trying his stupid pony-show email-faking trick a second time more than nine hours after I changed my password and display name. But the first time he fucked up was by Googling me. I got a fucking stat counter, guy. I got the goods on you.
Whatever you might think of me, make sure “SMART” is at the top of the list. ‘Cos I’m all that, baby.
Tag Archives: stalkers
Of Readers and Stalkers
Dear Readers–
I love your comments (when you bother to leave them – grr, lazy days of summer!–typical in blogland) and I love your emails. I love that you trust me with deep, dark secrets, and that you feel some kind of connection strong enough to make you return. It’s awesome.
Now and then, though, someone comes along who gets a little too attached. Emails get too revelatory, proffers of drinks become repetitive, that sort of thing. I doubt any harm is ever meant, and in fact, it’s likely the opposite. It’s flattering, really, but it can be a little troubling.
Now, this applies to maybe one out of a hundred readers who outs themselves to me, so, please, don’t think this is a general rule of thumb!
There’s a tendency at times to forget that you know me (and other bloggers) only through the plug in your wall or your ISP. We’re names, personas, images, and beyond that, we are indeed enigmas to you. Most of us would rather remain that way.
I’m searchable. Hell, you can find my photo if you know where to look. It doesn’t take rocket science. My phone number is unlisted for a reason, though.
I love flattery. I love comments. I love people trusting me. But, don’t forget, I’m a literary chick. I can read. If you offer me drinks, or you invite me out when you’re in town, and you don’t hear from me, the odds are pretty good I’m either not in the mood, or just don’t want to bother. And that’s the prerogative, you know? Sometimes life’s too fucking chaotic to send a note.
Every now and then I surprise myself and say yes and have a drink with a reader. It’s always weird. I always enjoy myself. I seldom would ever do it if I knew it was a single guy hoping he had a chance with me, though, because that just gets bizarre.
But, I’m single now, so who knows.
Am I saying never ask me to do anything? Nah. Don’t take it personally if I’m not interested, though. It’s all whim on my end, and when you’re the person being read, and you’re the person being, well, pursued, it only makes good sense to be skeptical and apprehensive. And, believe me, I can be.
While I like getting emails, and don’t mind at all being offered tough questions that do need resolutions, I cannot be anyone’s mailbox shrink right now. Keep sending Q’s and dilemmas, though. Just keep it within reason. (One email, not five, etc.)
I’ve been hesitant to post anything like this ‘cos I don’t want to ruin a good thing, but what the hell. Let’s say it:
Like me, love me, just don’t expect a lifelong friendship. Blogging is very masturbatory. Without you, it’d be exactly that. With you, it becomes more interactive. I enjoy that. Just know that I just don’t have enough of me to give a little to everyone. And right now, I don’t think I have enough of me to give anyone.
Still, I love my audience, love my comments, love my readers, love my email, but just want to keep these things real. Be like Phil, man, keep it real.
Depress-o-meter: Ah, I plummeted. Closer to a 7.5 or 8 out of 10, with 10 sucking hard, tonight. Just a bunch of stuff in my mind. Read the Ditch if you want more on that.