Amazon.com asked me to verify my email address for something called “Amazon Delivers” a kind of opt-in spam delivery service sponsored by Amazon. I’m not an opt-in kind of person. I didn’t ask for it. According to my Amazon communication settings, I do “do not have any Amazon.com Delivers e-mail subscriptions as yet” and I can’t get any until I opt-in. Fine and dandy, says I.

What’s confusing me is that Amazon’s email asks me to click on a link to verify. I didn’t fall off the banana boat yesterday—I never, never, ever click on a potential phishing link in an email.

We have received a request to verify that the e-mail address fake-email@yyyyy.com belongs to you. Please click on the (Valid Amazon.com link removed) below to complete the verification process.

Please (valid Amazon.com link removed) confirm your e-mail address to continue.

Once you have verified your e-mail address, you will be subscribed to:

• (valid Amazon.com link removed) category

Alternatively, you can type or paste the following link into your Web browser:
Valid Amazon url link removed

Amazon’s anti-phishing help page reaffirms it. So what’s the deal? Who gets the blame for this? Third party contractors? Inattentive interns? Lack of internal controls? A turn toward the dark side? I’d like to know.

If you receive an unsolicited e-mail that appears to be from Amazon.com that requests personal information (such as your credit card, login, or password), or that asks you to verify or confirm your Amazon.com account information by clicking on a link, that e-mail was sent by a “phisher” or “spoofer.” Amazon.com will never ask for this type of information in an e-mail. Do not click on the link.

Everyone’s all bent out of shape — but guess what — it’s not really illegal in Wisconsin

Long story short: a woman rented a limo and a hotel room for her 12 year old daughter’s birthday party. She served them “Mike’s Hard Lemonade” (A crime in itself, IMO), left a bunch of condoms around and jumped in the pool with her clothes on.

Skank, yes. Illegal — well, maybe. or maybe not.

Wisconsin is a state that really values it’s citizen’s right to drink whatever, and whenever they like. They have a law that allows parents to order booze served to their kids in any bar with impunity . The only thing this nitwit did wrong was not buying the kids a round of drinks at “Lucky Town Tap Room” instead of providing take-out drinks at the Hampton Inn.

Ok. I’m being a facetious. Milwaukee is a town of drinkers, and the baton is passed from generation to generation. This particular baton has rammed itself up the ass of this idiot mother — but personally, I think it should also be inserted into the rectums of the the parents who didn’t ask questions before they let their middle-school kids go to a co-ed hotel sleepover without asking questions and checking up throughout the night.

One Moron + more morons = lots of little morons.

Or I shall rise up from my bed of sorrows and smite you with a white-hot revenge, man.

1:19 am Monday night the phone rings.

Now, I live with my elderly parents who specifically DON’T have phones in their bedrooms. Why? Because someone with a lively personal life is apparently one digit away from their telephone number. Me, I’m still in the mindset of “Oh my Gosh. What if one of my kids got arrested and needs to get bailed out in the middle of the night?” or “What if my future-ex-husband was just nailed by a drunk driver and the hospital is calling to tell me I’m now a widow.” In other words, I ALWAYS answer the phone.

1:19 am I’m pulled from REM sleep by my phone. I bolt to answer, still remembering the downy kisses of–oh, never mind. “Hello?” “‘S Rog there?” “Huh? Who?” “Rog?” “Wrong number”, and I hang up.

But my mind does not hang up. I stare at the ceiling. I do Yoga. I eat crackers. I read my book. Two hours later, at 3:19 AM I’ve had enough. I pick up my phone and scroll down to my mystery caller’s ID, and hit dial.

When his cell phone prompts for a message (of course, and Rog’s friend is sleeping the good sleep of the non-introspective mind), I blurt, “How does it feel to get a call in the middle of the night because someone can’t dial the right number (beat) MORON!!” and I hang up.

If nothing else I got the last word. Ha. So there.