Look Out Behind You!

A few years ago I was sitting at a red light, singing Queen with my girls, and in the middle of our glee and innocence a truck slammed into us from behind. BAM. Justlikethat. Major damage to our car, but none to our bods.

After that, we were all on edge anytime we sat at a red light. That’s just the nature of things- something like a truck smashing into you can stick with you for a while. I still freak out a bit when people come up fast behind us.

That’s how I feel now- like I’m recovering from a big BAM, and I’m on edge all the time. I feel like I’ve been dealing with drama after crisis after issue. I’m jumpy and exhausted and weary from it all. And it’s showing no signs of slowing.

I was holding the phone this morning- don’t ask me why- I don’t know- and looking out the back door. The phone rang in my hand, and startled me so badly I actually hit my forehead on the back door and threw the phone behind me like a grenade. The phone landed on a glass candle and broke it in two. It seems I can break things now without even touching them. Bonus- the candle was lit and now my favorite tablecloth is covered in wax, and so is the phone. At least they smell good.

I think the body can only handle so much adrenaline and stress before it starts to go haywire. I think I’m gone haywire, with the added fun of my usual craziness thrown in for good measure. I probably shouldn’t be driving. Definitely shouldn’t be drinking.

Some people recharge their batteries with a good book, or a shopping trip, or maybe a nice massage and a happy ending. (long long time!)

When I’m overwrought or burned out or just pissy in general (read: damn near all the time these days), the best thing to get me jazzed again is  bit of good ol’ debauchery. However, having 2 teenage daughters, being a single mom with 3 jobs- my choices for debauchery are rather limited. I don’t close down gay bars anymore, nor do I go skinny dipping in the river while sillouetted in headlights. (I’m not saying I did before either. ahem.)

My online fun is the most debauchery I get into these days. But I’ll be honest, InWorldz isn’t big on good old fashioned mayhem. Maybe it’s the nature of it being a builder’s world and not a world built around sex, bondage and strip clubs. Maybe it’s that there aren’t enough people. But I don’t find the kind of kinky fun I used to be able to find in that otha world I frequented.

Shennanigans in InWorldz are a bit different. Instead of an orgy with oils and rubber sheets, we all go stand around and watch Tranq work on the Beta Grid and tell jokes in chat. Instead of a club with stripper poles at the door and bad emoting in local, we listen to Jim Tarber DJ and we all fall through the floor, local chat is all about prim collisions and Open Sim. I used to have fun TPing into random sex places and accessing the menus of the beds being used and moving people around. Now I’m just TPing into random places and meeting nice, interesting, creative people. Sheesh. Where’s the fun in that?

Now, don’t get me wrong, I can create debauchery and lasciviousness anywhere I go. (My niece’s 5th grade class recently really appreciated that.) I don’t have to wait for it to come to me, I bring it. But these days it’s not quite enough to recharge my batteries. I’m still on edge, still cranky, still feeling like the other shoe is gonna drop any day now.

I’ll make my own mischief and depravity (I suspect I could find a couple of willing cohorts). And I’ll hope that things can get better so I can stop watching the rear view mirror for that truck.

Slow Dips & Spins

Someone finally took me dancing last night. When he said, “Dress formal.” I about swooned with excitement. Didn’t matter that this was just a friend who wanted to give me an excuse to dress up; I was still going to spend the evening spinning around in the arms of a handsome man- and that was enough for me!

I’m a simple girl. I tend towards classic, clean shapes and silhouettes. Frills, lace and fuss just aren’t me.

This dress came with several options that I didn’t wear. Instead I kept it austere. But don’t mistake austere for plain.

These pearls are from Accessories by Eolande. Simple and elegant and they fit perfectly straight from inventory.

Here’s some shots of the dress parts that I chose not to wear:

Something of note: this dress comes with a system skirt, in addition to a flexi skirt:

I’ve had friends who hate system skirts; I adore them. I love the shape and style of them. But, I learned how to alter my shape to look good in a system skirt. Here’s my “regular” Whiskey shape, in the skirt:

Baby got back, right? But I don’t like that much junk in my badunkadunk, so I made a skirt shape:

Mucho betta, right?

Most people just slide their butt slider down to zero, but I figured out a better, more natural skirt shape. I set my butt to half its normal size, then my saddle bags to half their normal size and that seems to give me the most shapely ass. Better than no ass if I slide it down to zero!

I want to wear this dress every day; I love it that much. But it’s really made for spinning, moonlight and whispers. Ad most especially, deep slow dips.

Skin: Pulse

Shapes: Mine and Skirt Mine

Hair: Deviant Designs

Dress: Evie’s Closet

Jewelry: Accessories by Eolande

Poses: Luth Brodie

What Hump?

A big part of my petsitting job is driving. Often I find myself sitting at the end of my driveway, trying to remember which way I need to go. Going to a client’s house at least once, but often twice or even three times a day, I find myself seeing the same things and the same scenery, over and over. Sometimes if I let my eyes go unfocused and my brain go wandering, I can’t tell if it’s 6 a.m. or 6 p.m.

To amuse myself, there are things I watch along each way.

Down one street, there’s a guy who dresses like a woman, but only on Sunday mornings, and he stands out on his balcony, demanding eye contact when I drive by. I wonder if he goes to church like that. He seems mean.

There’s an Elvis impersonator who lives on my road, with a 30 foot long garage for his limo. I’ve tried to catch a pic of him checking his mail, but never got it. He’s one of those fat impersonators. Notice you don’t see many young-hot-thin Elvis’s.

Across the street from my client who’s out of town today, there’s a guy who has installed himself on his front porch steps. He’s there rain, shine, snow or darkness. He’s always there, playing his guitar. He doesn’t sing, but hums and rocks while playing old standards like Whiskey Before Breakfast or Keep on the Sunny Side.

This client’s house sits next to the Cherokee National Forest.  Snicker the Border Collie loves to walk in the woods. This morning it was still dark thirty while we were walking, although the clear skies made it light enough to see without my flashlight, so I left it in the car like a big dummy.

Snicker was straining on his leash like he always does. I can’t walk fast enough to suit him, what with my picking over every twig that wants to trip me and getting poked by every eye level branch. So when he froze in place, it took me a couple of steps to realize it.

When I did notice that he had gone statue still, he had hunkered down and was looking out at something out there, something not good, I did what anyone would do in that situation. I squealed a tiny little choked squeal and then I peed on myself.

I kept my eyes on Snicker. I couldn’t see far into the dark, and I didn’t want to see a face or a ghost or a crazed Appalachain mountain dude named Bubba looking back at me. I know my luck, I am on close personal terms with Murphy’s Law, so I know if there’s something out there in the dark, it’s not a doe or a cute bunny or a leprechaun with a pot of gold for me.

After an eternity, what seemed like forevah (about 3 seconds), Snicker growled low in his throat. Have you ever been beside a dog who was growling at something  you couldn’t see out in the darkness? 

Every hair on my body jumped off and ran away. All the blood rushed to my important parts, and it seems that the brain isn’t on that list. I turned and ran about two steps before hitting a tree with my entire left side. My right side was jerked backwards by Snicker, whose instincts are on whole different level. Instead of running back towards the house, he was lunging forward towards Satan’s minion, or Bubba, or what have you.

I bounced off the tree, stumbled back towards Snicker, tried to plant my feet, tried to find my breath so I could yell NO, tried to grab onto something with my cast hand, and tried not to fall. Snicker pulled me forward.

Want to place any bets before I go on? Odds are good that I fell, but the payout would sure be good if I didn’t, right?

I didn’t fall. (Ka-ching!)

Instead I ran full tilt into a branch that was perfectly level with my neck. I’m certain that, had I been facing forward instead of being pulled along sidways, I would have hit my windpipe. Instead I hit the right side of my neck and shoulder, and now I look like Igor in Young Frankenstein. (I can help you with that hump.)

My scream of pain was enough to make Snicker stop, and when he turned around, his tail was wagging as if nothing had happened. He’s a border collie, after all- he’d already forgotten. His mind was already back on “Ball. Ball. Throw the Ball. Where’s the Ball. Ball. Ball. Ball.”

But my brain, fuzzy from the blows, was still in “Shit. Shit. Shit. Run. Run. Danger. Bubba. Shit. Run.” mode. So we ran. My run born of adrenaline and terror and deep rooted sense that they were right behind me, while Snicker’s run was born of yay this is fun where’s the ball.  Those last few feet of woods were the worst, because that’s where they always get you, and pull you back and feast on your flesh. I could feel their fingers on the back of my neck and so those last few feet I don’t think my feet touched the ground and I know for sure I was making a girlie-scared noise.

Then we were in the open, and the sun was coming up, and Snicker was happy, and there were trumpets and flutes and butterflies. And neck braces and band-aids and ice packs. 

When I left Snicker’s house, I rolled down my window to hear Guitar Guy, half expecting him to be playing the theme from Deliverance or something, but he was playing Stagger Lee. Now it’ll be stuck in my head all day.

I’ve got an ice pack on my shoulder, and I can’t turn my head very far to the right. This seems like a good excuse to not clean house today, right? To spend the day inworld doing something fun and injury free. Although, knowing me, I’ll find some way to get injured in InWorldz. Maybe I’ll adjust my shape to reflect my new misshapen RL look. I look like this now:

I don’t care who you are, that’s sexy.

I’m Sensing a Theme Here

I moonlight occasionally in RL as a bartender; the money is great and it’s a chance for some grown up fun and flirting. Last night I worked til 3 a.m. The pick-up lines get better as the night gets later and the men more desperate. The best pick up line of the night was this gem: “I’d say that I’m in love with you, but you’d just think I was trying to pull a fast one.” My reply? I don’t pull any fast ones, but thanks for playing. Best joke of the night:
A guy walks into a bar and the bartender says to the man, “Hey man, you’ve got a steering wheel down your pants.”
The guy says, “Yeah I know. It’s driving me nuts!”
(get it? Driving his nuts? Maybe you had to be there.)

This morning I logged in to find someone had left me a little gift on my dock:

My favorite! Nice to have my drink served to me, for a change.

While I was pondering this gift, a notice that Rowland Larkham was hosting Morning Coffee popped up, so I decided coffee was a good idea, and went to get dressed. I put on a sweater I’ve been wanting to blog.

It wasn’t until I went to write down the info about it that I remembered the name of the sweater is “Brew”. (You see where I’m going with this?)

I TPed in to Morning Coffee; first time I’ve been. And, of course, it was a bar.

The topic of the morning was bewbies. Much like a real bar; only this time, it was prim tits instead of real tits.

But Rowland was ever the gentleman. Unlike the assholes I deal with at the RL bar.

Maybe I’ll go to a nice wholesome porn theater to get away from the bar/drinking theme.

Skin: Pulse

Shape: mine

Hair: Vanity

Pink PJs: Sade Trafalgar Lingerie

Sweater: Fashion Destiny
(shop at Equinox, near the tree)

Jeans: Cow

Bra: Lilleth Mills

Poses: Luth Brodie, Crux

RL Friday- If It’s Too Loud, You’re Too Old

My house is the cool house. Now, don’t get me wrong, I never want to be the “cool mom”, the one who thinks she’s friends with her kids’ friends, gets her bellybutton pierced and uses all the cool phrases. No. Just no. Even now that my kids’ friends are adult-ish ages, we are still not peers and that’s the way it oughta be. But my home has always been a safe haven, a place of acceptance, a place where kids can be who they are and know they will be loved and embraced. And so, my home is always filled with teenagers. Especially on holidays. Especially last night.

I buy certain things in bulk: chips, salsa, pretzels, cokes and juice. And vodka, but that’s for me, not them. I cook in mass quantities for holidays because I know that inevitably we’ll have an extra 10 for dinner. Last night it was 16. Including my kids, there were 18 tall lanky burping screaming cursing scratching laughing eating throwing smelly drinking machines in my house.

I love the sound of 18 kids creating chaos. But when they hook up the Wii and break out the Rockband, I just wanna run and hide. I hate that shit. It’d be different if the music was decent, but come on! REO Speedwagon? KISS? Boston? Oh honey, no. And these kids cannot sing to save their lives. I also get a kick out of the kid who swears he’s got a real future in playing guitar, because he got 100% playing Alice Cooper. Puh-leeze.

But then, kid number 19 showed up. And he brought Beatles Rockband. I was skeptical. How fun could it be?

Uh. Real fun, it turns out. Cajoled into singing, halfway through my bottle of Grey Goose, I had an absolute blast. I sang Lucy in the Sky, and nailed it. I tackled Paperback Writer and got 99% (booyeah! I’ve got a real future there). And my rendition of Helter Skelter will go down in the annals of Thanksgiving History (along with “The Time We Broke Down in Yucca, Arizona” and “The Year Mom Broke the Glass Door”). I rocked.

After a particularly stirring While My Guitar Gently Weeps, I went to one knee and threw my arms wide to proclaim my greatness, and the microphone went flying out of my hand and straight into the nose of kid number 8, who promptly jerked her head back into the lip of kid number 12, whose lap she was perched upon. Kid 12 bled like a … something that bleeds a lot… and my singing career was ended when I had to scrub blood off my couch and carpet.

But for a little while, I was a star. But not the cool mom.

Gracias

The family. We were a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another’s desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together.
~Erma Bombeck

I am thankful for my family. My real world family, sure. But also my InWorldz family. Last night was like a family get together, at the grand opening of Equinox. No time for lots of words, so here’s lots of pics instead:

Dear Whiskey,

Remember what Aunt Glad always said? “You be true to you.” Simple and ohsotrue. Also never forget her other favorite saying, “Just a smidge more vodka.” Can’t go wrong with more vodka. Word.

And can’t go wrong if you’re being true to yourself.

Love,
Whiskey

p.s. Don’t forget to stop for limes.

________________________________________________________

 

One of my favorite InWorldz designers has new stuff! Yay!

All from Snowpaws Designs:

And here’s how I’ll work this into my everyday:

Another new release:

And how I’ll wear it:

And this isn’t new, but I never have opportunity to wear it, which is a shame. Someone needs to take me dancing so I can show this dress off:

Let’s see if I can credit all of it:

Skins: Pulse

Shape: mine

Hair: Vanity and Deviant Designs

All new releases: Snowpaws Design

Black pants: Sassy

Khaki pants: Boho Hobo

Tank top: Cupcake

Formal gown: Snowpaws Design

Poses: Luth Brodie & AAA poses

UNCLE!

Yesterday I manhandled several major appliances and pieces of furniture; today I feel old and broken. While we were gone to pick up the new hot water tank, it rained, all over my furniture that was outside drying. Wait, it gets better! I had to walk the washing machine back in from the porch, and managed to pull it across my foot, peeling the nail on my big toe all the way back off the nail bed. It fell off last night, much to the disgust of my daughters and every one of their facebook friends who had to endure their updates: “My mom’s toenail fell off and you should SEE the blood everywhere! OMGrooosssss!!!”

Today I was unable to put a shoe on the damn thing, and I suspect I need stitches, or morphine, or something. I finally had to admit defeat and go see a doctor

I live in a rural area, in the Appalachian Mountains. I’m not native to this area, so I’m still shocked by some of the things I see. But for the most part, I like it here.

I spent all morning watching some of Appalachia’s finest up close and personal- but only out of the corner of my eye. I avoided direct eye contact at all costs.

My Dr. was out of the office for the week, so I went to the local “You Wait Long Long Time” clinic. And I waited. And I waited. Waited.

I waited for 2 hours and 14 minutes in a small, stuffy, smelly waiting room full of crazy people. I wish I were kidding, but it was “bring your TB infected loony cousin down from the holler into town” day.

The lady beside me was mumbling under her breath about bugs, and she reeked of kerosene. The man on the other side of her was coughing up little bits of lung into a bandana that he kept folding and refolding. There was a wee girl across from me who was obviously running a high fever. Her mom was pulling her hairs through her fingernails, and then checking under her nails- for what, I don’t even want to imagine.

All around the room there were very sick people. Waiting.

I tried to find my happy place by reading my book. I recited the prologue to the Canterbury Tales in old English in my head.  I counted every breath. I sang Yellow Submarine. I named the Presidents, backwards. I spelled every curse word I could come up with. I talked to my imaginary friend, Wally. (Wally says hi ya’ll!)

But no matter what I did, I could still feel the germs on me. The virus and the bacteria and the lice and the crazies. I was covered with them.

Creepy, that.

After 2 hours and 13 minutes, I realized that only one person had been called back into the inner sanctum. My chances of getting out of there alive were not good. My chances of being seen before I caught small pox or dementia were worse. And my chances of living to tell the tale were nil.

At 2 hours and 15 minutes, I was in my car, trying not to hyperventilate and covering myself with Purell. Telling myself that my festering foot could wait til Monday, when my regular Dr. will be in the nice, clean, crazy-free office.

At 2 hours and 29 minutes, I was limping through my house, stripping as I went, and getting in the hottest shower I could tolerate.

At 3 hours and 15 minutes, I was putting my clothes in the washer. I was holding them with tongs. I was adding vinegar.

At 3 hours and 18 minutes, I was sitting down to tell my girls about my adventures, and I was looking for my book.

At 3 hours and 20 minutes, I had to admit that my book wasn’t in my bag. I’ve been carrying around the new Denis Lehane novel, in hardback even! It was not in my bag, not in my car, not in my washer.

I called the clinic, but couldn’t get past the automated lady. I pressed every button, but only managed to get the same recording, telling me their hours and location. (open 8 to 4:30, in the Kookyville Center)

In the end, I had to admit to myself that my book was MIA. I was not going to go back for it. I was leaving a man behind enemy lines.

All I could imagine was my book in a chair, with some diarhea butt sitting on it. And tooting a big juicy one. (gag)

Or possibly my book on the floor, next to the discarded kleenex and that open, green, boogie-encrusted bottle of Afrin. (shudder)

I had a moment of silence for my (very expensive) hardback book of wordy goodness, and then I put it in that little place in my heart where I put such sorrow, locked it away and I moved on.

Meantime, I’m soaking my foot in sea salts, taking lots of herbal shit, and watching for signs of gangrene. And TB. And dementia.

I looked up dementia on WebMd,  My driveway already doesn’t go all the way to the road. If I developed dementia, who would notice? And would I even care?

One Last Step

I adore Steampunk fashion, on other people. I don’t have the proper street creds nor historical knowledge to pull off the style. But while “outside the box” shopping, I fell in love with this outfit, from Antibiotik.

While I may not be able to pull off the whole look every day, I’ll definitely be able to work pieces of this into my wardrobe.

I had to work quite a bit to get the prim parts to remotely fit, and eventually I got so frustrated I just let them hang where they wanted.

This is the Winter Skin from Pulse. While it’s not “me”, it’s beautiful, and better suits the outfit than my regular warmer skin tone.

I think I’m ready to get back into my box now. That’s enough time outside my comfort zone for one week.

Skin: Pulse

Shape: mine

Hair: Deviant Designs

Outfit, glasses, hat: Antibiotik

Shoes: Vertigo

Poses: AAA Poses & Luth Brodie

You Can Pick Your Friends

And you can pick your nose.

But you can’t pick the day that the hot water tank decides to gush blazing hot water all over the floor of the laundry room and kitchen. I would surely not have picked today. I would have chosen some day in the far future when I am in a better mood, my bank account is in a fatter state, and my sense of humor is intact.

I had no sense of humor about waking up to the sound of my dog running through 3 inches of standing water. Nor did I enjoy dragging all of my furniture out into the yard to dry in the sun. I did, however, laugh my ass off at all the idiots who stopped to shop at my “yard sale”. One woman could not be convinced that I wasn’t having some secret, invitation only sale; she circled my dining room set until I finally told her I’d take $2000 for it, the she wandered back to her car muttering that *I* was crazy.

My daughters and I are industrious; we’re determined to install a new tank ourselves. Seeing as how this involves electrical work and water, I feel it necessary to settle all accounts, set out my life insurance policy and remind my sister of the box beneath my bed that she is to burn unopened when I die. If you never hear from me again, know that I died in a spectacular fashion, and went straight to the little room that’s been set aside in hell for me.

I’ve known for years I was going straight to hell; it gives me a sense of freedom to curse around small children and make fun of the infirm and elderly. I already know that I’m going to spend eternity listening to the song “Santa Baby” (eeewww) and the sound of phlegmy sinus issues (shiver) mixed with the smell of fall harvest spices (gag), and no coffee (sob), so I might as well yuck it up while I’m here.

Meantime, I’ve got to move my washer and dryer onto my back porch so I can clean the wet floor under them. Because nothing says class like a dinette in your front yard and a washer and dryer on your porch. Shoot me now.

Baby Steps

In my quest to step outside of my current fashion rut, I wandered to new shops and tried to keep an open mind. I came across gobs of ‘ho wear, several shops full of templates-plus-color and a few shops that sold only ass crack jeans and bandaids. But every now and then, I found a gem of originality and style that made me sit up and take notice. (and click BUY) MiraMode was one of those.

This is Mira’s “Dentelle” dress. It reminds me of something from Alice in Wonderland.

While it’s not something I’d wear to flounce around the grid, it’s a work of art that I’ll pull out for special occassions.

Mira professes to be a slow creator; I think her creations are worth the wait.

The dress came with everything but the shoes, and all of the prims went right where they were supposed to, which thrills me to no end. I hate fussy prims. Color me low maintenance.

I know it’s just a baby step outside my comfort zone, but baby steps are better than no steps at all! I’ll keep shopping.

Skin: Pulse

Shape: my own

Hair: Hot Heads

Dress: MiraMode (I believe it may be spelled M!ramode in search, but look for Mira Karu’s profile)

Shoes: Adam & Eve

Poses: AAA Poses

Must Be the Full Moon

This morning I put cleanser on my face instead of moisturizer. I didn’t notice till hours later when I scratched my itchy face, and found what I thought was gobs of my own skin under my fingernails. I shrieked and ran to the bathroom, thinking, just my luck, I’d picked up a flesh eating virus. And who has time for that?

Now my face is shiny clean.

I spent last night at Tranq’s birthday party, which took place on his barn roof, natch. There was live music (Lightnin’ Lowtide), dancing and lots of falling through the roof. I was on my laptop, which had me so lagged I could only snap one low rezz snapshot:

I had an absolute blast, but I think I might have told a few dirty jokes. Okay, more than a few. Can I blame the almost full moon on that? Maybe I should blame Astra Thorne instead, she’s the one who let her hair down. I’d share a few of the jokes, but it was proclaimed a No Quote night. I promised.
It was great to meet new friends, and see so many familiar faces! Happy Birthday Tranq!!!

Dear Neighbor,

Yes, that was my thong wearing ass you saw this morning, in the bright glow of my security light, digging through my own garbage can. That was my trash strewn around the yard, and my feet waving in the air as I went head first into the smelly chasm of refuse. And that was my voice yelling creative obscenities into the early morning quiet.

I seem to have misplaced my camera.

It was just here.

Last seen right there on my desk.

And then- then we cleaned. We should have known better.

Thanks for clearing your throat pointedly while standing on your back porch in your matchy-matchy jammie bottoms and robe, with your perfectly combed ‘do and your cuppa in your hand, while your yappy little ankle nipper barked like a hairy toad and you lifted your nose at the never-ending spectacle that is my home.

Fuck you,

Whiskey

p.s. Your mother dresses you funny.

Date Dress

(as always, click the pics if you’d like to see them mo bigga)

I know most “date dresses” inworld are the size and shape of bandaids, but I think there’s something to be said for being coy.

Both this dress and the bandaid dress look fine on the floor beside the bed, but the anticipation of the reveal makes this dress so much more fun to remove.

I had to mod for days to get the prim parts of this dress to fit. The hat is originally attached to the head, but cover up this hair? No thanks. I know the polkadots are stretched and wonky, and I never could get the sleeves just right. But I still think this dress is sweet, and I feel like being twirled into a firm embrace.

Now I just need a date. That is a whole ‘nother post in itself.

Skin: Pulse

Shape: My Own

Hair: Deviant Designs

Dress: *HAUTE* Fashions

Shoes: Adam & Eve

Poses: AAA Poses

Grey Goose Balls

Be sure to stop by the Lodge at Equinox of InWorldz, and pick up free ornaments & gifts. Or better yet, leave one too! If I can create one, anyone can!

Whiskey’s Grey Goose Balls:
limited time only, no restictions apply, no assembly required

Comfort Zone

I have given myself a little personal challenge, to step outside my fashion comfort zone and try things I might never otherwise try. But I’m not one to spend 1500Iz’s on a dress just for pictures; I do have a smidge of a practical side (read: saving my money for Grey Goose). I tend to stay in clothes that mimic my RL style. Before I branch out and show you Outside My Comfort Zone, here’s what my comfort zone looks like today. A Friday outfit:

This sweater is from Antibiotik, and I adore it. The prims all fit with no adjusting, and it is exactly what I am wearing in real life today. Nothing more comforting than a cozy cardigan. (Only my belly button is covered in RL, I am a teacher, and an exposed belly button just tempts folks to give you a zerbert.)

It comes with shoulder prims, that make it more modern and fashion forward:

But even that is a bit outside my fashion happy place. See? I do need to branch out! And so that’s my goal over the next few days- to venture outside my comfort zone. And since I’m a blogger (yo), you get to follow along.

Skin: Pulse, shape: Whiskey, Hair: Deviant Designs, Sweater: Antibiotik, Camisole: Cupcake, Pants: Sassy, Poses: Crux

RL Friday- Black Bean Soup

I don’t love to cook. Shocking, I’m sure. I know people who love to cook, and I’m happy for them- and even happier when they cook for me. It’s just not my thing. But since I’m a loving mom, I still do it. Sometimes. When I forget to pick up dinner on the way home.

My favorite dishes are ones that will yield several days worth of leftovers. Black Bean Soup is one of those. I make a huge pot, and then I expect my family to eat it daily for a week. Usually by day 3 or 4, someone is ready to mutiny, and by day 5, someone “accidentally” leaves it out to spoil. But if it gets me out of cooking for 3 or 10 meals, then it’s all good. And everyone is generally thrilled go out to eat on day 6, so my evil plan works nicely.

I made a pot last night for company, and she loved it so much she wanted the recipe. I’ll share it with you too, because I’ve never shared any recipes here before, and I feel it’s my civic duty as a blogger to post at least one recipe. But there’s 2 recipes I’ll share- one that you can print and use to make your own, and the other that’s how I really  made my soup.

First, the printable recipe:

Whiskey’s Vegan World Famous Black Bean Soup For Days
This recipe will yield a good size pot, but I always double it for leftovers. It’s better day 2.

INGREDIENTS:
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 large onion, chopped
2 stalks celery, chopped
3 big carrots, chopped
4 cloves garlic, chopped
3 tablespoons chili powder
3 tablespoon ground cumin
1 pinch black pepper
6 cups vegetable broth (I use Pacific Foods No-Chicken Broth, 2 cartons)
6 (15 ounce) cans black beans, rinsed, or equivalent dry beans, soaked overnight, if you’re especially froggy
1 (15 ounce) can whole kernel corn, drained
1 (14.5 ounce) can crushed tomatoes, undrained (I buy the kind with green chilies added, from Muir Glen)
——————————————————————————–
DIRECTIONS:

Heat oil in a large pot over medium-high heat. Saute onion, celery, carrots for 5 minutes. Add garlic, saute for 2 more mins. Season with chili powder, cumin, and black pepper; cook for 1 minute. Stir in vegetable broth, 4 cans of beans, and corn. Bring to a boil. Meanwhile, in a food processor or blender, process remaining 2 cans beans and tomatoes until smooth. Stir into boiling soup mixture, reduce heat to medium, and simmer for 30 minutes.

Simple, yet fabulous. Perfect for winter. I dice chicken for the carnivorous among us to stir into theirs.  Add some cheese and sour cream and you’re in heaven. Serve with tortilla chips and your family will call you genius. Trust me.

Here’s how the recipe actually worked at my house:

1. Assemble all ingredients on the counter, and decide that the recipe would be fine without corn, and that pinto beans will be fine to replace half the black beans.

2. Start a grocery list: black beans, corn…

3. Attempt to open cans, cutting your pointer finger clean and deep in the process. Hold finger under running water, then apply pressure for a good ten minutes, while your daughters argue over which of them should have noticed you were attempting to use the can opener again, and scold each other for not being diligent enough.

4. Pour all beans in strainer to drain, and then rinse them in the sink. Turn to tell daughters that you’re fine, really, and to stop fussing, and proceed to pull the water sprayer around with you and spray water all over floor and pants.

5. Mop kitchen.

6. Don’t bother changing pants, because you’re going to spill half the No-Chicken broth on them anyway.

7. Heat the olive oil while your girls chop the veggies. Half-heartedly offer to help at least a half dozen times, before one of them finally tells you to back the fuck off and points a knife at you for emphasis.

8. Stand near the popping oil, so that you can make more stains on your shirt, in the hopes it’ll finally look like it was designed that way.

9. Saute veggies in oil, while the girls hover protectively and offer to take over. Shoo them away, then promptly burn the pointer finger on your other hand.

10. Hold finger under running water while one daughter stirs and the other fetches the hot pads that cover the whole hand. Pretend you don’t need them.

11. Try to locoate the blade that goes in the food processor. Look in the same spot a dozen times, as if it will magically appear this time. Finally ask the girls if they’ve seen it, and they’ll admit that they hid it, from fear of you cutting yourself on it. Watch daughter reach into the high far corner of the top cabinet, and wonder that you gave birth to such a tall, beautiful young woman. Try to be mad at her for hiding it, and fail miserably.

12. Notice that company is due in 15 minutes, and so dump everything into the pot, spilling half the No-Chicken broth on your pants (told ya), getting a nose full of chili powder in the process. Turn stove to high to hasten the cooking.

13. Sneeze until you’re certain you’ve broken something and you have tears streaming down your face.

14. Go to the bathroom to clean up your face and remove your snot covered shirt. Notice that the bathroom could use a quick wipe-down, and spend a few minutes tidying.

15. Smell something burning.

16. Remember that you turned the stove eye to high, and run screaming into the kitchen to find the soup boiling over and stuck to the bottom of the pot. Reach to the back to turn the eye down, and manage to burn your stomach on the bubbling soup. (Remember you removed your snot covered shirt?) Gently stir the soup, trying not to disturb the charred beans on the bottom.

17. Turn to find your daughter standing there, trying to figure out why you’re cooking dinner in your bra.

18. Fix another vodka tonic, which conveniently doubles as an ice pack for your burned finger.

19. Pop a lid on the soup pot and allow it to simmer gently while you dress for company.

20. Serve your dinner guests with a smile, until you notice that your bandaid isn’t on your finger any more, and so spend the next 20 minutes trying to stealthily inspect each bite that anyone eats, hoping it didn’t fall into the soup.

Voila! Fabulous soup in 20 easy steps.

The Man Behind the Curtain

I grew up listening to the music of Paul Simon. My parents were nomadic hippie freaks when I was young, and we spent a lot of time in the car/truck/van traveling across the state/country/continent. My mom always had music playing- Joni Mitchell, Simon & Garfunkle, Holly Near- and we all sang along. Everyone else Some of us better than me others.

Paul Simon’s music stayed with me, and I spent my girls’ wee years rocking them while listening to Graceland and Rhythm of the Saints and, of course, Negotiations & Love Songs. The lyrics became a part of my life. I studied those lyrics over and over in the wee small hours of the morning, after my youngest would finally find sleep and I had to sit rocking her, lest she wake up if I breathed or blinked. Paul Simon’s lyrics seemed so intricate and worldly and meaningful.

A few years ago, I caught an interview with Paul Simon on PBS. The interviewer asked what inspired his lyrics, and his reply broke my heart. “I just look for words that rhyme, phrases that sound good in the song. There’s really no story behind most of my lyrics.”

I was crushed. How could he? Those lyrics meant something to me! (sob) It was like discovering your sea monkeys aren’t monkeys at all, but little ucky brine shrimp. (Took me years to recover from that one.)

It was a long time before I could listen to his music again, and longer still before I could enjoy it. I’m random and obscure enough in my own life to come to finally appreciate that his songs aren’t deep social commentaries, but just words that rhyme and sound good together. I guess I can live with that. If I want deep social commentary, I’ll listen to Bob Dylan, whose lyrics really mean something. (right? they do, right? Don’t harsh my mellow.)

My point (I do have one) is that I guess I don’t care about the man behind the curtain. Who cares who pushes the buttons? I don’t. I just want to enjoy the music. (Or the big scary floating head, as the case may be.)

When I meet someone inworld, I know there is a a man or woman behind the curtain, a person sitting at the keyboard. But I enjoy the lyrics that they write for me, the song that they sing.

(This is the part where I bring it back around. Stick with me.)

There’ve been many blog posts recently about identity. The various forms and shapes and definitions of it, how it’s changing and evolving, and the expectations we all have. It seems an annual tradition for the inworld intellects to take a stab at finally defining how our online identities mesh with our physical ones, if at all. And this time, there have been some masterful efforts.

But thing is, in my opinion, none of them can define it. Not one of them. Know why? Because the relationship between our online and physical reality is as unique as each and every one of us. Only I can define that for myself, and my definition will not match anyone else’s. You may try to define it for me, but you will fail every time. You may also fail at trying to understand my definition, if you are only trying to make it fit into your own.

And so, I suggest we all stop lifting the curtain and blowing the illusion. Let each of us decide the level of real world and online world mingling, and respect the boundaries as healthy and necessary. If you’re worried that the svelte and sexy lady avi you’re dragging your virtual tongue across is really a 400 lb man named Slappy who lives in a  bait shop, then ask her. If you’re concerned that the pumped up guy avi with the great hair is really some housewife with too much time to kill and a twisted sex appetite, then speak up. But if you can just step back and get to know the personality, the lyrics, if you will, and accept people for who and what they are where you meet them; well then, does it really matter?

I am who I am. I tend to say the same things, enjoy the same clothing, to look similar, have the same sexual tastes, and be drawn to the same types of people in both online and RL worlds. And I’m very happy with that. It’s my online experience. But I am perfectly happy to accept that not everyone is like me. Wouldn’t it be exhausting if they were? I’ll happily accept the “you” that you show to me, on the level that is comfortable to you.

It’s not rocket science; it’s acceptance.

I’ll leave you with the fine, if not meaningful, lyrics of Mr. Simon: (from Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes)

She makes the sign of a teaspoon
He makes the sign of a wave,
The poor boy changes clothes
And puts on after-shave,
To compensate for his ordinary shoes

You can see how I might have been confused. That’s deep shit right there.

What I Do Do

Blogger Challenge 2

In “real life”, I have 3 jobs, 2 kids, 1 high maintenance hound, and a wicked addiction to peanut butter. My inworld time is limited. I spend a lot of time exploring (read: shopping), and some time snapping pics (read: crashing); but there is one constant that I seem to come back to every single time I log in. This is how I spend much of my time in InWorldz:

That’s Saera stretched on on Talia behind me. I spend a lot of time watching them work (read: entertaining them with antics while they create). Last night we were in Sae’s white room, where she goes to punch dance and soothe herself with her high graphics fun. See, Saera isn’t just a builder, she’s an artist. She sees shape and design and form in thin air. And, bonus, she has the talent to make what she envisions. Color me jealous. She enthralled us with a light show and a trip down the rabbit hole, and while my photos in no way do it justice, I wanted to try to share.

So, basically I spend a lot of my inworld time watching others create. What does that make me? Comic relief? I’m inspired in my own way, and create my own art. I’ve made incredible friends who enrich my life every day. Sal good.

So, You, We Meet Again

Wow, last week’s InWorldz Blogger Challenge was a success! I’d like to send a big, huge, wet and naked thank you out to those who participated. I found new blogs, new friends and new places. I hope you did too.  And in case you missed it, here’s Elenia’s own post- look guys, we gave her the warm and fuzzies! A few people even started up new IW Blogs to answer the challenge; my blogroll is growing every day.

And so, it’s Wednesday again. Until we get tired or bored, I’ll keep posting these challenges on each Wednesday. Eventually I’ll burn out and get distracted by some other hot guy shiny thing, and this will peter out. But for now, we’ll enjoy the rosy glow of new blog love!

 

Whiskey Shots proudly presents, the 2nd of a series:

InWorldz inworldz inworldz Blogger blogger blogger Challenge challenge challenge

(insert dancing girls and confetti)

How to play: blog your challenge entry, and leave a link to it here in the comments. Support your fellow bloggers by commenting on theirs. Dig it? Make it your own. Also consider posting your entry here at the forums.

Week Two Challenge:  What do you do inworld? Post a  picture showing what you find yourself doing most often when you’re in InWorldz. Do you spend your time building? Dancing? Shopping? Helping at IDI? (If what you do involves nudity, send those pics directly to me, along with a LM to your direct location, ktnx.) Bonus points if you use words, too.

Thanks for playing along!!!

My Bling, yo.

I know, I don’t have the street cred to say yo. Sue me.

I’m not one to get all gah gah and googly eyed over “big designers” coming to InWorldz from Second Life, and in fact I get quite annoyed when folks try to sell IW as a viable option by listing those who have made the move over. I judge people based on who they are, what they do, and how they treat those who are smaller than themselves- literally or figuratively. Not by how popular they may or may not be in Second Life.

So when I saw that Accessories by Eolande was putting a shop at Equinox, I wasn’t excited because she’s big in SL. I was excited because I wanted another option for affordable but well fitting and nicely made jewelry. I’m picky about jewelry. The most minute amount of bling makes my eyes bleed. I can’t stand fussy items I have to spend 3 hours fitting. And I like pieces I can wear with several outfits. And also? I’d rather not rob a bank or rent out my girly parts to have to pay for them.

That’s why I was excited to see Eolande on the sim. Because I already knew her to be a good creator who makes something I like. Plus, bonus, she’s nice as can be! Can’t ask for more!

This is the Phoenix Set from Eolande. My first ever jewelry purchase in IW. I’m uber pleased with it, didn’t have to futz with it, and it works with lots of things.

The earrings went right where they were supposed to. Imagine that! Wonders never cease.

Skin as ever, Pulse.

Shape, mine mine mine.

Sweater: Stellar

Skirt: Stellar

Black strapless: Evie’s Closet

Jewelry: Eolande (at Equinox)

Hair: Chichickee

I May Never Recover

Seems today was a day of dentist visits for lots of people. I saw more than one mention of it on Twitter, and each time it was mentioned, a little part of me died an abrupt and painful death.

See, I’ve got this thing. This dentist thing. I really can’t say more. (shiver) And normally, if I schedule kid’s cleanings at 10 a.m. on a Monday, we’ve got the place to ourselves. I can safely take up the entire couch in the waiting room and be at peace with the soft rock radio, my notebook and my neurosis while I cry and rock and write to keep myself out of the fetal position.

Not today. The waiting room was packed, the dentist was running behind, and I had to cram myself onto one square of the couch beside a very (I never said I was nice) odorous lady who insisted on bouncing up and down for no good reason. Constantly. I was seasick in two point six.

While I tried to write with my elbows pinned to my sides and my body made small as possible, I had to listen to the rather (yes, I admit to being a bitch) irritating lady with the high pitched nasal voice go on and on about her (ohgodkillmenow) dental issues. On and on with the dental issues, in excruciating gory detail.

And, lo and behold, the lady in the chair next to the couch was interested! She was asking for further clarification! (Did they scrape behind your gums? Did you feel it in your sinus nerves?) And then, (ohpleasesomeonecallinabombthreat) she had to detail her own dental issues. And before I could stick my perfectly sharpened Ticonderoga black #2 into my ears to stop the pain, there was a whole room full of people reciting their dental issues. In vivid and nauseating detail. In concert with the sound of the drill and the smell and the soft rock and the bouncing…

I finally had to walk out into the hall, before I either hyperventilated or went postal on the crazy dentist-talk lovers. I took out my phone to call my daughter for support, and just as I opened it, it rang. Of course I jumped and threw my phone across the hall, against the wall and, naturally, it broke into a gazillion pieces when it hit the floor.

Well, okay, I exaggerated about the phone. It broke into 4 pieces, but that’s not good for a phone. Lucky for me, I have teenagers. They’re deft.

Anyhow, one of those peices went under the rolly thing that a ginormous potted plant was sitting on. (I’m sure there’s a name for that rolly thing that makes it easy to move a plant, but it escapes me now.) This plant was huge, and when I bent over to reach under, I grabbed the edge of it to hold on to. I mean, it had to weigh 500 lbs, I weigh 118 lbs, it could hold me, right?

Well, maintenance must have been handy with the WD-40, because that rolly thing was lubed up and working. I leaned down with my hand on the edge of the planter, and it moved. So not good. It rolled right on down the hall without a sound. My feet, being my feet, stayed put. My hand went with the planter. Other hand in a cast, was no help at all. My face went to the floor. You know the rest. Face, floor, pain, and ohmygodpleasetellmeno, I think I chipped a tooth.

I’m on my hands and knees on the floor, looking down at a little chunk of what can only be tooth on the floor. I swooned, I saw stars, I threw up in my mouth a little. I live in fear of this very moment. If I break a tooth, that means I have to see the dentist. I’d have dental issues.

I don’t do dentists without enough tranquilizers for a rhino and a full staff of nurses to keep me asleep and strapped down. Not to mention roofies to make sure I don’t remember ever going.

Maybe I could glue it back on. That’s what I was thinking as I picked up the little tooth and staggered to the bathroom down the hall. I made it to the mirror without throwing up, opened my mouth to inspect the damage, and grimaced at myself. I bared my teeth at my reflection. And they all looked fine. I felt around with my tongue, and couldn’t find any broken teeth.

And then it hit me. I was standing there with… (ohfuckinghellpleasetellmenot)… yes… someone else’s tooth in my hand.

Take a moment. Compose yourself.

I. Wigged. Out. Thoroughly and completely. I have no idea where I flung the (urgh) tooth or my shirt, but I suddenly felt the need to wash every part of my body that would fit in the little sink. Before I knew it I was drenched, shirtless and sobbing.

It took forever to pull myself together, what with the little piece o’ shit hand dryer in the bathroom being completely useless as a pants dryer and my shirt looking like I’d thrown up on it. When I finally emerged from the bathroom, I found my phone still there, in 4 peices on the floor, and the plant-on-wheels in the middle of the hall. I policed it all up, and made my way back to the waiting room.

Where I had to sit and wait for another full hour, listening to people talk about their dental issues while I tried not to think about the fact that I could have been holding a tooth out of one of their heads in my hand. (gag) I almost didn’t make it out of there alive.

And I may never recover.

The Real Whiskey

No, not that real Whiskey, although I’ve been working on a mixed media/mixed reality piece that does show the real life Whiskey. (watch this space)

I’ve said it before, but hear me again- I’ve got incredibly talented friends. I consider myself lucky to hang with them and marvel at all they’re doing. You’d think I’d be inspired to learn to create too, but so far it just inspires me to shop, which I’m not sure you can consider a talent.

Talia Fournier is not just the owner and evil mastermind behind an amazing new sim called Equinox, she also has a store called Paparazzi, where she sells skins and clothes. (and her husband, Jack, creates some pretty hot male skins there too!) I’ve been helping her out with her vendor pics. It’s an interesting study in identity, as I wear Talia’s skin, shape and clothes when I’m shooting her pics, so I don’t look like “myself”. It makes it very hard to think of my avi as anything but a mannequin at those times. Even though I think Talia does great work, I’m even hesitant to leave home when I’m dressed in her skins and shape. I’m just not me!

Here’s Paparazzi model me:

Those are Talia’s outfits, skin and shape. See? Not me! (Cute as hell! But not me.) I’ve named her Gin.

I get the added bonus of keeping the clothes I shoot for her. Here’s me, as I would wear them:

When I’m shooting vendor ads, I have to keep the poses simple- it’s about showing off the the product, not myself. Pics I take of myself (vanity pics, I know, I’m not ashamed.) allow me to have fun with the great poses I’ve found lately.

My goal this week is to step outside of my Photorb and learn to properly use windlight settings to take better pics in the world.

On Gin: Skin and outfits from Paparazzi
(currently the best place to find her stuff is the Starfall store & the creator’s fair)
Hair: Evie’s Closet (updo) and ChiChickee (long)
Poses from Luth Brodie at Crux

On Whiskey: Pulse skin, my shape
Hair: Emo-tions
Jacket: Paparazzi (name of the outfit is “Undone”)
Undershirt: part of a dress from Evie’s Closet (Milli Petite)
Pants: Wetherby’s
Cast: yup, still there. Saera Pfeffer
Poses: AAA Poses (look for them at Creator’s Fair and Equinox)

RL Friday – Color Me Embarrassed

And I don’t embarrass easily. A lifetime of tripping, dropping things and speaking without thinking have thickened my skin. Oh, my kids have tried- trust me. They’ve come up with some really inventive ways to try to make me blush, but they fail. I just don’t care enough about what others think to get upset about it.

But today? Yeah. Let me set this up for you- I’m a part-time petsitter; I go to my client’s homes and care for their pets when they are gone. Generally, I don’t actually SEE my clients after our first consultation. I could pick their pets out of a line-up of 100 animals, but I have walked right past my clients in the store without recognizing them. 99% of them leave a key on file with me, and then I never see them again- even though I spend lots of time in their homes. This suits me fine! I love my job. I’d rather deal with animals than people any day. (Which explains why my other part-time job is a teacher.)

I generally leave the house at the ass crack of dawn when I have dogs to care for. I have a bag I take with me, filled with leashes and poop bags and snacks and stuff. This morning I walked into my client’s house about 5:45 a.m., for their first visit of this reservation. They left late last night, so my first visit was early morning. Bear with me here. I promise, there’s a punch line.

When I do my early a.m. visits, I take coffee with me. So generally, by the time I get to my second job, I’ve got to pee. This morning I had to pee bad. You know the kind of need to pee when you sit on our heel? Hop around? Breathe out through your mouth and then pant? Run like a mad woman through the house and drop everything on the floor on the way to the bathroom and then sigh loudly when you finally let it out? That kind of need to pee.

And that’s exactly what I did. I came running through their house, dropping my coat and my bag and my keys in a mad dash for the bathroom. I did shut the door, lest I damage the dogs’ sensibilities by baring my ass in front of them. (Actually, I’ll be honest and say that they have a very “curious” dog who likes to stick his nose “down there” and I don’t need an exam yet this year, so I closed the door in the dog’s face.)

Thank god for that. Because right after I sighed really really loud and said, “Oh hell yes” I heard, “Hello?” in a male voice.

If I had balls, they’d have climbed up into my ass. I’m pretty certain I squealed a tiny little “oh fuck what the fuck please fuck” kind of squeal.

I’m rather protective of my body. I mean, I walk into empty dark houses alone every day. I carry mace, for all the good that’ll do me. But I live in fear of this very moment- a man in the house when I go in. I couldn’t scream or speak or really even think. I was sitting on the toilet with my pants around my ankles, stuck.

Next thing I heard was my name. With a question mark at the end.

Turns out my clients aren’t leaving til tonight. One of us (I won’t say who) (my clients) got the reservation wrong.

I pulled up my britches. I came out of the bathroom to find my clients standing in the hallway; he’s holding my coat up by a finger, and she’s wrapping a robe around her nightie.

That moment lasted a very very long time.

And I was finally embarrassed. Too bad my daughters missed it.

If You Give a Klutz a Coffee

(my inspiration)

If you give a klutz a coffee, she’s going to want to read the forums. She’ll sit down in her favorite spot at her desk and set her coffee to the side, next to her phone. She’ll remember that the Treet.tv show is up, so she’ll need her headphones. When she reaches for them, her phone will ring, startling the klutz. When startled, she’ll jerk her arm into her coffee, spilling it all over the desk. She’ll need a towel or ten. The coffee will get all over the stacks of books and papers, so she’ll need to wipe them off and spread them out on the back porch to dry. Wiping off the desk will remind her that the whole area needs to be dusted, so she’ll need a dustrag. When she dusts the monitor, she’ll remember that the Treet.tv is up, so she’ll go for the headphones. Reaching for them will remind her that her phone rang earlier, and it was her sister. She’ll want to call her back. Her sister will remind her that she needs to drop off her dress, so she’ll need her car. Driving to her sister’s, it will begin to storm. She’ll want to hurry home. When she gets home she’ll remember that there’s coffee made, so she’ll make a new cup. When you give a klutz a coffee, she’s going to want to read the forums. When she sits down in her favorite spot and sets down her new coffee, she’ll notice the clean desk and remember all the books drying on the back porch, in the storm. She’ll jump up to run get them out of the rain. Wiping off the books (again), she’ll remember that she has a cup of coffee waiting for her on the desk. Walking to fetch the cup, she’ll step on a dog bone and twist her ankle. She’ll need an ibuprofen. When you give a klutz an ibuprofen, she’s going to need a cup of coffee to wash it down. When you give a klutz a cup of coffee, she’s going to want to read the forums.

The Best of InWorldz

To answer my own challenge, I give you:

The Best Freebie in InWorldz

The Hopper ball from Abranimations has been one of my favorite things since day one in InWorldz. No matter how bad your RL day went, pop one of these bad boys on your ass and hop around a sim and suddenly- you’ve forgotten it. Well, the vodka helps too.

And even better, finding a friend or three to hop with you.. we tend to go on and on about the community feeling of InWorldz; it’s a real thing.  And as long as you contribute to it, you’ll continue to benefit from it. Like Abranimations does.

Giving you “The Best” of InWorldz is more difficult than you might think, because, at the risk of sounding like a cheesy cornball, InWorldz is the best. The best for me, anyway, and many friends that I’ve met since I came here. I’m terribly happy here, and I look forward to seeing more of the best from you.

Pictured, from left to right:

meself (wearing ChiChickee Hair, PJs from Ayla Holt, skin from Pulse)

Saera Pfeffer (PJs from Ayla Holt, hair is Emo-tions, skin is her own)

Talia Fournier (hair from ChiChickee, PJs from Ayla Holt, skin her own new creation- watch for it at Paparazzi)

Ayla Holt (PJs are her own, Emo-tions hair, and Estyle skin)

Hopper Balls from Abranimations

Photographed at Equinox of InWorldz

/me Slaps You in the Face With a Glove

I don’t read but maybe one or two Second Life blogs anymore, and both of those have Inworldz content. It’s not that I’ve become snobbish about SL (although, I have), it’s mainly because I’m still mourning the loss of my SL inventory. I’m somewhere between depression (stage 4) and acceptance (stage 5); but when I look at pretty pictures from SL, I slip back into stage 3, bargaining. (“I’ll just log into SL for one night, just to look back at 3 years of goodies…”) Better not to go there. I committed avicide in SL – InWorldz is my permanent home and I’d rather focus on what I have here.

There aren’t nearly enough IW blogs yet, and the majority of them are creator’s blogs. Not that there’s anything wrong with that; my best friends are creators. Southie Allen (of {AND}) and I were banging around the idea of a blogger’s challenge. Why not? There may only be a couple dozen IW blogs, and of those only a dozen post regularly… maybe we can stir it up a bit! I’m all about stirring it up.

So, I’ll go first, I’ll throw a challenge out there. Participate if you like, gawk if you’d rather do that instead. Toss out your own challenge if you have one in mind. I’ll post more challenges if this one goes well, or curl up in the corner and suck my thumb if it flops. No pressure.

Whiskey Shots proudly presents, the 1st of a Series

InWorldz Blogger Challenge

(insert catchy theme here & make jazz jands)

How to play: blog your challenge entry, and leave a link to it here in the comments. Support your fellow bloggers by commenting on theirs. Dig it? Make it your own. Also consider posting your entry here at the forums.

Week one Challenge:  The Best of InWorldz- show me your best! You choose which best to show- could be best clothes, best skin, best hair. Could be best friend, best sim, best pose ball. I don’t care.

Show me your  best, and tell me why.

Easy peasy, right? Now I’m off to do it myself! Hurry back!

 

Dispatches from Inworldz

Last night I was pow-wowing with Jack & Talia Fournier and Saera Pfeffer.
(clicky da pitcha to see it mo betta)

We’re were having a Counsel of the Equinox of InWorldz Planning and Social Committee, which really just consisted of Saera and I making lewd jokes and comments while Talia threatened to separate us and Jack egged us on with the occasional twisted jab. They’ve got a pretty amazing new winter sim, designed and built by Saera, that’s going to be open in a huge way soon.

Talia’s got big plans and I think it’s going to be a great place to hang out this season. Here’s a sneak peek of the Lodge.

Just as Talia said out loud, “We need to get Whiskey a man, so she can get laid and focus.”, people started landing on the sim, like magic! Only I didn’t get laid. I did, however, have the pleasure of meeting Tranquility Dexler for the first time, as well as seeing Ayla Holt and Drew Faulkes.

I was amazed to see Tranq crashes more than I do. Someone get that guy a “Welcome Back Tranq” gesture, but without hearts and flowers, please and thank you. I have to admit to getting a little tongue-tied when I’m around our founders inworld, but I can blame it on my cast.

Typing with a cast that half covers my fingertips is miserable at best. I’ve worn the letters off my backspace key. In local chat I sound like a 5 year old who has had a few too many. Just to remind everyone that I’m dexterity challenged and all of my typos should be forgiven and overlooked, Saera made me an inworld cast.

I’m totally digging these new poses I picked up from AAA poses at the Creator’s Fair. They make me feel all dramatic and stuffs.

Like I’m singing Janis Joplin, and well.

 

Too bad I can’t actually sing, unless you count doing my breathy Marilyn Monroe version of Happy Birthday. I won a karaoke contest doing that once. Maybe I’ll try it in IW next time I’m onstage with Sae.

I love this new hair from Deviant Designs, even though I’m modding the hell out of it and still haven’t got the bangs just right.

Makes me hum the I Dream of Jeannie theme song.

I refuse to take the obvious route and joke about rubbing my bottle here. I’m sure Talia will be so proud of me. And Sae disappointed.
 
 

Skin: Pulse
Shape: Whiskey’s
Hair: Deviant Designs
Poses: AAA Poses
Lodge Outfit: Snowpaws
Purple Sweater: Cow
Black Pants: Sassy
Pics taken at Equinox of InWorldz, opening soon
 
 

Monday Sucks Ass

And not the good kind.

I have no time to blog on Mondays. I get up at the ass crack of dawn and run non-stop until I get home just in time to throw something together and call it dinner. Today I have last minute dinner guests, so I just did a 10 Minute Tidy ©.  That’s when I am so ashamed by my lack of housecleaning that we do just the things that make a big impact and make it look like we’ve cleaned all day. My girls are pros. Here’s our 10 Minute Tidy list, in case you ever find yourself with company coming unexpectedly or a husband who wonders what you’ve been doing all day.

1. Clean off the floor, picking up anything that weighs less than 50 lbs and moving it to the floor of the nearest closet. Artfully cover the pile in the closet with fabric. Vacuum only the visible areas.
2. Grab a few empty boxes from the laundry room where you keep them for just such an occasion, and sweep all flat surface clutter into them. No need to sort, simply pile it all in the boxes. Seal these boxes with tape, label them “Old Underwear To Donate”, and place them in the attic where you can easily find them when you realize your checkbook is in one of them. I’ve taken to writing the date on these boxes, since I sometimes never get back to them again til tax time.
3. Don’t empty the dishwasher, that’s a waste of time. Instead, remove only the biggest items and then cram whatever dishes are in the sink in with the clean dishes, and run it again. The overcrowding won’t matter because half those dishes are clean.
4. Hide the ginormous pile of clean laundry that you’ve neglected to deal with for several weeks in your daughter’s closet, only keeping out and putting away your kid’s sports uniforms and your spouse’s favorite clothes that they’ll look for in the next day or two. Bribe daughter with Starbucks if she’ll keep that door closed for the day. Threaten her with death if she doesn’t.
5. Pour a lemon smelling cleaner in all sink drains and toilets- but don’t flush. Out of lemon cleaner? Try Sprite, works just as well.
6. Dampen a towel for each person who’s in cahoots with you, and add a drop of lemon oil to each one. Run around the main living areas, wiping flat surfaces- but only those that show. Use this opportunity to also tuck random items into the couch cushions- like the Sharpie markers that perpetually live on the side table, the turkey baster one of the kids was using to make fart noises,  and the stapler that you’ve been looking for forever.
7. Throw all wayward shoes, cleats and slippers out on the back porch, in the corner where you can’t see them from inside.
8. And lastbutnotleast, all of your activity and running and flailing will have created a wind that has blown all the dog hair under the dining room table and into the corners of the kitchen. Instead of sweeping, take an old wet dishtowel and wipe up the hairs that have conveniently collected there. Throw this towel away, because by the time you get around to washing it, you’ll have forgotten how it became covered in hair and dirt, and you won’t want to touch it, so you’ll throw it away.

And now, I’m off to perfect the 10 Minute Dinner for Guests ©. This involves serving copious amounts of wine before dinner, so your guests will never remember what that you’ve served half cooked frozen dinners. Someone call Martha Stewart, and tell her I said “Fuck you, it’s a good thing.”

Just Jump

-or- I Went to the Creator’s Fair and All I Got Was This Pose

Anastatia Magic is hosting a Creator’s Fair through December 6th. I wandered through last night and shopped a bit. But the only items that were new to me were some poses- everything else I’d already seen and purchased while wandering through shops. But it wasn’t a disappointment- quite the opposite. It was comforting to see so many creators’ items on display like that- it reminded me that Inworldz isn’t just in the good hands of our founders, but also our creators.

Visit the Creator’s Fair here: http://slurl.com/secondlife/Magic%20Isle/172/116/801

pose from AAA Poses