10.27.2006

This is not my beautiful wife.

Okay. Let's clear something up once and for all 'cause I'm tired of reminding all of you out there--

I have a site tracker.

So if you have all of the best intentions from visiting my blog several times a day every day as of late, then why not leave me a little comment? Hmmm...not in the mood? That's awfully convenient.

I mean, okay. Yeah, there's people I know for a fact that read it on average of every other day and don't say a word. I get between five and ten hits a day from a work computer that recent events have forced me to remain nameless, but anagrams to Sac In Her Rag Hotels. That's fine, I mean, I know you guys. Three hits a day from Phoenix and Scottsdale? Sup Ed, Carrie, Daniel. Brooklyn? Yeah, I see you up in there a couple times a month, and yeah, I stop by yours to look at your pics every once in a while. That's all cool--we know each other. It's fine.

But walking through my beautiful house several times a day on the sly? That's just weird. And furthermore, just add me to your favorites if you're that concerned with trying to figure me out instead of linking through my MySpace profile, which is no doubt found on one of your friend's top 8.

Do you yet realize I am talking to you?

Right now, as you read this, your IP address is making an entry in my visitor log. I then also know what city and state you live in, when you visit my blog, how many times, how long you linger, and what kind of computer you have. This is totally real.

With little more than five minutes of my precious time, I can cross this with some info I found by viewing the source code on your MySpace profile and by breaking into your e-mail. My suspicions of your identity were of course, confirmed.

Just so you know--

I am that girl who has everything you could ever want.
Don't believe me?
Stop by more often.

--M

p.s.--Change your password.

3 comments:

Angelica Dunn said...

your so creepy mir. hahahaha. your bday party was AMAZING. love ya.

Thaozee said...

I only read the bolded bits, because it felt like you were talking directly to me. Like Batman's red hotline phone to the president.

Nick said...

Huh. Blurkers. I was one once. Still am. But you already know that. Duh.