NUT ALLERGIES

There are people with whom one associates that, while it is necessary to deal with them, and they are in the main both harmless and fairly decent, one must be careful about opening up to. And sometimes it is best to keep a smile on one's face and say bland things, like 'uh huh', 'do tell', 'that's SO interesting'.

Since 2009 there have been no e-mails inviting me to GayGuysChat and YoungFurriesPanting. Reason being that I blocked both of them. They never figured out how to NOT send those group invites to everyone in their e-mail address books.

Blocking is a crucial skill.

There are times when I'm mighty glad I started to rigorously 'block sender' OR 'FB block'. Up until 2012, because of certain grass roots activists, and Sales or Marketing Department hacks with whom I had to deal, I'd regularly receive messages informing me that Barrack HUSSEIN Obama was a secret Muslim, a graduate of a fundamentalist madrassa, a communist, a black nationalist, a radical anti-Israel terrorist supporting Arab-o-phile, a member of the illuminati, a free mason, and a satisfied purchaser of Viagra and Cyalis. Apparently he was also reputed to be the father of Brittany's love-child and a star in bestiality porn. This in addition to news articles linking him to Hamas, the Catholic Church, and a Jewish Cabal.

And he was going to take away our guns.

The other great skill is de-subscribing from mailing lists. No matter how interested one is in the subjects of their focus. Sure, it means no longer being invited to passover seders, bar and bas mitzvas, birthday parties, Surinamese picnics, Belgian pastry events, the mediaeval poetry forum, Dutch-American get-togethers, or regular meetings of the Malayo-Polynesian linguistics club, but everyone has gotten older, their children are grown up and unlikable, and people have sometimes changed from nice, decent, sensible folk to, in some cases, blistering nutballs and elderly lawyers engaged upon their second or third randy scandalous love life.
No social meetings with pastries and hot caffeine either.

So there has been considerable improvement.



Getting calls from either Rachel or Vanessa at dealer services about a soon to expire extended warranty on a vehicle I do not have -- where would I park it in my neighborhood -- is almost like revisiting those times. There is a slightly sleazy fake friends vibe about it, a frisson, if you will. Perhaps I should 'press one' on my phone and talk to a live human being. Find out what they're wearing, are they comfortable, do they have hopes and aspirations? What's bothering them, they look pale and stressed out, can I offer them a smoke?
Drinkies, or a cup of tea perhaps.



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