Posting this from my pocket, standing behind the bar. Just wanted to say thank you to each of you who took time to send your good thoughts. Our Uberboy is fighting hard and actually showing signs of improvement! I’m hopeful that by the time I can get to him tomorrow he’ll be awake and out of the woods. Happy New Year to you all! Drive safe, have fun, be well, and tip your bartender.
I didn’t get to attend the Masquerade Ball last night (insert dramatic, crushed girl dreams here). I spent the night at the emergency vet with my boy:
My Uberdog is a Vizsla. He was originally sent to us from a Guide Dog School, and we were raising/training him to be a seeing eye dog. He’s a delicate sort, however, and some medical issues kept him out of the program. So now he’s our little dork of a dog. I’m a proponent of adopting shelter dogs myself, I’m not a pure breed snob. Vizslas are gorgeous, wonderful dogs. But don’t buy one, unless it’s from the shelter.
I’ve trained many dogs over the years, but he’s by far the most brilliant. He is the sweetest, gentlest, most snuggly dog in all the land. He’s my Boy. He’s the bane of my existence, but I adore him.
The Boy has issues. He likes to counter surf, he wants his ears scratched 24/7, and knows how to open the lid on the bathroom trash. He takes up the entire king size bed and often pushes me off. But the worst issue is that he has epilepsy. Doggielepsy. His seizures are heinous. Every time he has one, I think he’s finally dying- they’re that bad. I won’t describe them for you here, just imagine the worst thing you can imagine, times ten.
Last night he didn’t come out of a seizure after several minutes, and it was worse than any we’d seen. Eventually we got him to the ER vet, where he was put into a drug induced coma to stop the seizures; each time they try to bring him back up, he starts to seize again. His prognosis is poor.
Leaving him at the vet this morning in that condition ranks high among the hardest things I’ve done. I have to work tonight; bartenders don’t get New Year’s Eve off. I’m hoping for the best, and know that he’s in good hands. Keep my Uberdork in your thoughts.
I really need 2011 to be a good year. ‘Kay?
I love my InWorldz home more than is probably reasonable. I’ve always had a home inworld. 4 years ago today I first rezzed in Second Life. I was not a gamer by any means, and in fact used a computer simply for email and writing. I made an account in SL to attend a class for work, and my first avi had my real life first name. I had no idea what I was getting into. The class was miserable and dealing with the interface was tedious. I left disgusted and never intended to go back.
A couple of weeks later, I got the flu. I was horribly sick for days; I finally got so stir crazy that I idly poked around SL again, and it wasn’t long until I was hooked. I rented a house, and spent days decorating it. I’ve had a virtual home since then.
This house in InWorldz is without a doubt the most special home I’ve ever had. About a month into my time in IW, I was lonely and couldn’t seem to find a place where I fit in here. I was ready to leave InWorldz and give up on virtual worlds altogether. Saera talked me through a long night, and a couple of days later, she spent a whole day building my dream home.
She made a home for me when I was feeling lost. It may sound cheesy, but it’s true. Most of my blog posts have been written with my RL self sitting at my desk, and my avi sitting at the end of my dock.
For weeks, Saera planted flowers for me when I was at work. I would come home and find more flowers, cat tails, water lilies… one day I came home to a greenhouse.
Tonight I’m packing all of this up, and I’m moving. There’s no sense in me paying rent for land when Kora owns a sim now. It’s hard to give this up. This house has grown in relation to and parallel with my relationship, my feelings about InWorldz, and my identity inworld. It’s my home in every sense.
But I’m moving to a sim that Kora is creating, and while it will be different, it can be home too. It can be a new place to grow and evolve. I’m looking forward to that.
But I’m gonna miss this.
Yeah, I know the title is uninspiring. So sue me. I haven’t had sleep in eons and I’m hitting the wall. In my case, you know I mean that literally.
Whiskey Shots proudly presents, the 5th of a series:
InWorldz inworldz inworldz Blogger blogger blogger Challenge challenge challenge
(Amphetamine Valley Raceway! Sunday Sunday Sunday!)
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. (it’s not hard! please do this.) Also consider posting your entry here at the forums.
Week Five Challenge: Since 2011 is mere moments away, it’s natural to look back at last year and look forward to next. For our challenge, let’s do both. Choose your favorite post of another InWorldz blogger and post a link at your blog. Then post 5 (or more) predictions for InWorldz. The rules are yours to make- just have fun writing!
Thank you all for participating! I so enjoy every one of your blogs.
I’m not ashamed to admit that I have a girly streak in me a mile wide. I don’t often get to dress to the nines in real life, and heels are just a figment of my imagination there. Trying to figure out what to wear to a Masquerade Ball fills me with heady glee and squealy giggles. There is a 17 year old prom girl inside each of us (you guys too! You just keep her pushed way, way down. Unless you’re Kora, then you dress her up in InWorldz and have the balls to do it right).
Today I went shopping. First of all, here’s my shopping outfit:
I don’t care who you are, that’s smexy. Rawr! Or… rather… moo?
(PJs from Ayla Holt, no longer available but she’s such a sweetie that I bet if you were really Jonesing for them and asked her nicely, she’s pass you a pair.)
Here’s some Masquerade options I either had in inventory, or picked up on my shopping trip.
First of all, the mask I’ve chosen to wear, from B[u]Y Me: (it even has a little beauty mark!)
Next, a few choices from Evie’s Closet, a favorite for swishy gowns:
Cariad Christmas Gown
Fable Halloween Gown
Rowena in Black
Rowena in White
Maybe Kora will go to the Ball as Saera, so she could dress up, and I’d wear this to escort her:
Ritz Tux from Deviant Designs
Le Noir Rose, from Pulse
Penelope Black Lace from Snowpaws Designs
And last but most certainly not least, this work of art from Eshi Otawara. I may never take this dress off.
(comes complete with pearl choker)
Smokey Tux
The dress I’ve chosen to wear isn’t shown here. I think Kora should see it before anyone else, and I’ll unveil it at the Ball all dramatic like, with flourish and trumpets and fanfare. Every girl needs a night to feel like a princess, like the prettiest girl in the world. I pick Thursday night.
I’m trying to watch my language. My 10 year old niece is spending her Christmas break with me, and my sister gave me a stern warning not to send her back to school with a new vocabulary. When my daughters were wee beasties, I kept my foul mouth contained and my potty mouth for grown up times. But now that mine are big beasties, with creative language of their own, all bets are off. Except for when the niece is about.
My daughters suggested we make new words- which I totally disagree with in principle. I mean, a curse is a curse, no matter the words you use. It’s the intent behind the word, not the word, that offends- in my book. So whether you say fuck or focaccia- you’re still cursing.
But better to say focaccia to a 10 year old, I guess. So I’m going along with it.
The other day I shouted, “Shitake!” when I dropped a jar on my toe, and she yelled, “Bless you!” from the other room.
It’s not easy.
You don’t realize how much you curse until you try to stop. I love my niece, I really do, and the last thing I need is for her to ruin her Safety Patrol position at school by having her go back saying, “What the hell is wrong with you fucking people!?” (But I am tempted to get her a taser for when she’s helping kindergarteners across the street.)
She’s cramping my style. Harshing my mellow. Making my tongue bloody from biting it.
She also sleeps like a … well, like a cat. You know how you can move a cat around in their sleep and they’ll just flop? I’ve been putting her in disco dance positions while she sleeps. It’s amazing what will amuse you when you have insomnia.
I don’t sleep well these days. I can’t turn my brain off, and it’s loud (I’m sure you’re surprised to hear this). I usually spend my sleepless nights in InWorldz, but with Kora off, it’s not been near as fun, so I’ve stayed off the computer. I’ve read books, written tomes and tweets, taught myself to knit again, counted the pores on my hands, and found a penpal in Phekbakastanisburg. Or somewhere. I’m not sure what language he speaks, but I think he really gets me. I even started sorting family photos one night, but quickly discovered that to be the wrong thing to do when lonely and sleepless.
When you can’t sleep, everyone has remedies. Cures like taking a warm bath (just makes me horny), drinking warm milk (soy milk is nasty enough cold), reduce stress (Ha! have we met? I am stress) and one brave soul had the gumption to suggest I stop drinking coffee after noon (try to take my java away and you’ll draw back a stump). I’ve tried them all. Well, no, that’s a lie. I never tried giving up my coffee. If it would help, it wouldn’t be worth it. What good’s sleep when your days are sucked of all their caffeinated joy?
So tonight’s plan, after I lie in bed for an hour or four to convince myself that I can’t indeed sleep, is to reread “The Invisible Man”, by H.G. Wells. That’ll cheer me up.
And then if I still can’t sleep, I’ll log back into InWorldz and shop for a dress for the Masquerade Ball. It’s coming up this Thursday! Whatever shall I wear? I found a mask, but still no dress. It needs to be just right. I briefly considered trying to create my own one-of-a-kind dress, but then I remembered the last time I tried to use photoshop (I broke it) and decided to just buy one instead.
But I really should learn to create. Something. In InWorldz. There, I said it. It’s out there. No taking it back. Maybe it’ll come to me some sleepless night- an epiphany, something I should learn to create. I’ll make a little shop, call it What the Focaccia. Or Shut the Frock Up. Maybe Get the Fleck Out!
But for now I’m off to curl up with a book and a dog.
No, I’m not getting ready to toss out a Namaste or a Peace Be With You. But I want to acknowledge the real relationships that I have enjoyed developing, and the real feelings of cheesy joy that you people bring out in me. I’m jaded, tired and more than a little persnickity- but I still feel a sense of wonder, fun and adventure every time I log into InWorldz. And the real me, sitting here at mission control, sends out a big cornball hug to the real you, sitting there at yours. Thank you for your friendship.
I hope that Santa brought you all that you wished for and more.
I got exactly what I asked for:
and a bonus in my stocking:
I must have been good at some point!
Happy Holidays, whichever ones you celebrate!
When we get to the last little wedge of the cheesecake, it becomes a game. No one wants to be accused of eating the last of it; they’d never hear the end of it. A year of outcast status to suffer through. So that last piece gets eaten in furtive bites, generally standing in the fridge under the guise of looking for something to drink. There’s a fork hidden in the door behind the soy mayo- I’m pretty certain it’s my oldest’s, and I’m impressed by her cleverness.
Bite by bite, the hunk ‘o cheesecake disappears. Eventually there’s an empty cake keeper left in the fridge, and I’m the one who takes it out and washes it to return it to Micha’s husband for next year.
I’m at a disadvantage, though. It’s not fair really. I can’t pull off sneaky- it’s well known. When I try to steal a bite standing in the fridge, I knock things over, drop the bite on the floor, or give myself away cursing the seal on the damn cake keeper. (Designed by NASA, no doubt. That fucker is sealed.)
Last night I got so frustrated by it that I decided to be brazen and pull it out and just eat some, dammit. Of course, I dropped it. I misjudged the weight of the thing and about threw it across the room just trying to pull it out. Everyone else was sitting in the living room, and had a clear view of the kitchen. They knew I was up to no good. When the cake keeper hit the floor, there was a sharp intake of breath from all of us, and a very clear whisper of “shit” from one of the girls. No one looked up though, they froze in place and waited to see what I’d do. Would I eat it off the floor? If so, they’d have to come running to get their share. Would I try to scrape it onto a plate? If so, they’d have to slide into me and get it themselves. It was a charged moment.
Tragedy averted: the cake keeper landed right side up and hermetically sealed; no harm done. The sliver of cake was intact. A Christmas Miracle, to be sure.
I announced “Wow! It’s okay! It landed right side up!” and everyone breathed out. Then pretended they hadn’t.
But when I set the cheesecake on the counter, suddenly all pretense was lost and everyone looked my way with an intensity that would have been frightening under any other circumstances. I had proximity on my side. They weren’t prepared for a direct attack, for me to just nosh on it right out in the open like that. They weren’t sure of the protocol of such a move. Do they gang up on me and then split the spoils? Go full ninja and take no prisoners? I’d thrown them all off their game.
It was the fork that finally sent them over the edge. I poised over the cake with the fork at ready, and before I could even load it with the first bite, they were leaping over furniture, knocking over lamps and sliding across the floor in socked feet.
But I had an advantage they didn’t know about, and I wasn’t about to let my momentary edge go to waste. I bent over the cake and started shoveling it in, shielding with my body. And when they slammed opened the silverware drawer and reached for forks, they realized my upper hand. All of the forks and spoons were in the dishwasher, all the way across the room; we’d used them all up at dinner. A split second of shock, a scream of defiance, and a mad scramble to the dishwasher gave me time for 4 more bites, but that was all I could shove in my mouth without risking suffocation.
So I stepped back, possibly saving my own life but certainly my hands from fork-amputation, and I watched them fight amongst themselves for the last few bites like a pack of dingoes. I tried to chew without spewing all over the kitchen, got a fit of the giggles & snorts, and about choked on the last swallow. But it was worth it.
After the cake pan was scraped clean, everyone looked around at each other guiltily, then walked off as if nothing had happened, brushing off shirts and wiping mouths. We’ll never speak of it.
It’s a stellar night here. I’ve got out a house full of teen beasties and we’ve made fudge, cookies and rum balls. We’ve listened to everything from Charlie Brown Christmas to Lenny Kravitz. I think there must be a Vacancy sign blinking in front of my house, but I secretly love it. Remind me I said that when I have 8 hungry bodies foraging for breakfast tomorrow.
There’s a cheesecake in my fridge. Let me tell you about this cheesecake. See, my friend Micha made the finest Cheesecake in all the land. For years, she made 2 a year. One for her house, and one for mine. It was such an undertaking, that she only did it at Christmas. A few days before Christmas each year, she’d show up at our house with the most magnificent, succulent cheesecake that’s ever lived. We’d proclaim that we weren’t worthy. She’d pishaw us, and kiss us, and then leave. And each year, I’d pass. Didn’t eat sugar, didn’t eat cheese, didn’t do dairy- whatever. All those years- I never ate it. Then 2 years ago, Micha was killed by a drunk driver in November. A week before Christmas that year, Micha’s husband showed up on my doorstep with a cheesecake, made from her recipe. He made exactly one, and he brought it to us. It was tradition, and he had to keep it alive. And let me tell you, I ate the hell out of that cheesecake. No matter that I didn’t eat sugar or dairy or whatthehellever. That cheesecake was made from love. And it was the best thing that’s ever crossed my lips.
So that cheesecake in my fridge? It’s Micha’s, and I’m eatin’ it. Shame on me for all those years I missed out. You live once. Eat the cheesecake.
Let the kids eat in the living room, call your mother, tell your best friend you love her, and leave the dishes til tomorrow while you go play Pictionary with a houseful of teens hopped up on sugar.
Merry Christmas to you. Go eat some cheesecake.
I was feeling kinda down tonight; Kora’s been sick so it’s been a few days since I’ve seen him. I’m missing snuggles. I went inworld to shop and cheer myself up. Retail therapy!
I started out looking for a gown for the Equinox Masquerade Ball, but got distracted by a cuddly reindeer suit. I had to have it, it suited my mood so perfectly.
But I wasn’t quite feeling cuddled like I needed, until I came across a friend:
I named him Paco. He’s my Spanish cuddle bear.
I hope Kora doesn’t mind that I danced with him.
Paco comes with a hug pose built in. He’s pretty snuggly, but he’s not my Kora.
Paco’s from Moon Dance Designs. My antlers are too.
Skin: Pulse
Hair: Emo-tions (modded)
Reindeer Outfit & Nose: Evie’s Closet
There are many of them. “Watch what I can do!” or “What’s this switch?” Some just foreshadow pain for me. Things like “Look out!” or “Don’t step in that.” I always step in it. And if you tell me to look out, invariably it causes me to just get hit in the eye instead of the head. One of my favorites is “Watch it!” Watch what? I look around for “it” and wind up getting run over by a truck.
Or a teenage boy, as was the case today at the bowling alley. Great way to celebrate my cast coming off, right? Take me to a place where there are 10 pound balls and slippery floors. My daughters are sadists.
I’m famous for looking one direction while walking in the opposite direction. You’d think I’d learn. Today I was distracted by the guy with the chain running between his eyebrow and his lip. I was tempted to just grab it and pull. I was studying him as I walked by, and one of his friends was studying the girl with the ubershort skirt as she walked by, and we collided. Hard. I heard “Hey!” and then next thing I knew I was falling backward after bouncing off of the guy’s chest. I’m close personal friends with falling. I know better than to pinwheel my arms- there’s much more padding on my ass than my newly healed wrist- so I tried to just land on my ass and keep my tongue away from my teeth. But I didn’t count on the low table that was behind me.
It hit me just behind the knees, like it was designed for the express purpose of flipping me through the air, and causing me to land on the back of my head. It did its job perfectly. I went ass over teakettle to land in a puddle of spilled beer. And to make matters more humiliating, it was bad beer. Miller Lite, even. (shiver)
There follows a moment of stunned silence after such a spectacular fall. I hear that moment all the time. Then, usually, someone offers me a hand and says “Ohmygod! Are you okay?”
But not this time. After the stunned moment of silence, the first thing I heard was “DUDE!” And then laughter.
They did help me up though, and offered to buy me a beer. Since I was there with my daughter’s teenage friends, I declined. As I limped away, I heard them retelling the fall as if it hadn’t just happened. Already they’d embellished and added my shirt flying up to expose my tits (it didn’t). I’m sure by the end of the night, the story included all of my clothes coming off.
I’m not sure the smell of bad beer will ever wash out of that sweater. And if I’m to reek of beer, it’ll be Sam Adams, spank you very much.
Dear readers,
In the past few weeks I’ve had some emails and private messages at Twitter regarding my obscene language, my constant references to liquor, my comments about crack, sex, my kids, whatever. I think it’s just part of having a public blog and/or Twitter. These messages range from nice (“I love your blog but the language keeps me from reading it. Thought you should know.”) to downright silly (“You shouldn’t joke about your drinking. You need help and it’s not funny.”) to totally loopy (“God should strike you down for calling your daughters heathens. You will be judged. Have fun in hell.”). I’m paraphrasing and correcting spelling and grammar there.
I ignore these messages for the most part; this blog is a creative endeavor for me. It’s an art form, a creative outlet, and it’s mine. Oh sure, I adore an audience, that’s obvious. Any blogger who says they don’t is delusional. That’s part of the fun of blogging. But there are blogs in every shape and form out there. If you’re looking for a G-rated blog, go find one. Christian blog? They’re out there. Sex with animals blog? Bet you could find one in about 2.6 seconds. This is my blog. Period. I don’t air my family shit here, I don’t espouse my political views here. I don’t talk about religion and I don’t care about yours. The focus is on InWorldz, with a side order of me, and how can I blog without being myself? I wouldn’t read that blog. How boring!
I will joke about many things here, including drinking, sex, children, god, myself, peanut butter, you, and anything else that comes to my mind while I’m sitting here. I joke about things that *I* find funny. If you find it funny too, BONUS! If you don’t, then I won’t hold it against you. But don’t expect me to censor myself in any way to suit your preferences. I won’t apologize for drinking and joking about it; for making fun of my kids; for talking about sex; for using foul language when that works for me. And I shouldn’t have to.
So please don’t write me a letter expecting to change me. Better people have tried and failed long before you came across this blog. Don’t take me too seriously. I would never take a bath in a tub full of vodka. It’s a joke, peeps. And a waste of good vodka.
Thanks for reading my blog. Back to your lives, citizens.
Whiskey
Tonight is the Winter Solstice. and I’m going to stay up to watch the lunar eclipse. There will be vodka involved. Longest night of the year might as well be the most fun! My kids might have the right idea though- they’re going to go to sleep and set their alarms. Wimps.
I think it’s human nature to assess your affairs at the end of the year. Sort of a personal State of the Union, if you will.
The State of my Union is good. My borders are secure, education system works, infrastructure is sound… my budget could use some work and my inbox could use some tending.
I don’t usually make New Year’s Resolutions. They’re so restrictive. But this year I’ve decided to jump on the bandwagon- in my own way.
Whiskey’s New Year’s Resolutions
1. I resolve to be more balanced.
Spend less time falling, tripping, flying and flipping.
2. I resolve to spend less money eating out.
Leaving more for buying vodka.
3. I resolve to exercise more.
Exercise my right to be naughty.
4. I resolve to make do with what I have.
And to have as much as I can possibly get.
5. I resolve to drink less coffee.
Leaving room and time for more vodka.
6. I resolve to be more organized.
Spend more time putting my inventory in folders.
7. I resolve to keep on top of my laundry.
On top of the washer, enjoying the spin cycle.
8. I resolve to be more mindful of my language.
Find more creative and useful ways to curse.
9. I resolve to better schedule my time.
To make more time for InWorldz.
10. I resolve to spend less time online.
Just kidding.
Seems like Monday is always lurking and sneaking up on me. I think Monday should be a day of transition, from the weekend to the week. Not a real weekday. Can I get a witness?
So today’s Transmonitionday. (I just made that up. Just now. I’m that good. Like the other night when I was obliterated and belligerent and Ta-Da! I made obligerent. My new favorite word. Big Scrabble Points, too.)
I came across a new-to-me store inworld, and normally I wouldn’t buy anything on principle, because all of her vendor pics are taken in Second Life. I know they are, because I have that hair in SL and miss it ubermuch.
But my principles took a backseat when I saw the adorable teeth she had for sale. These are subtle and worn on a tattoo layer. I don’t look too rabbity, do I?
She also has teeth and freckles together, but my skin’s perfectly freckled so I passed those up. A girl’s gotta have some principles, right? You can find these at B(u)Y Me. No really, that’s the name of the store. B(u)Y Me. Get it?
I can’t believe I have to work on Transmonitionday. Maybe I’ll stage a sit-in in protest. Sit-in right here at my computer. Care to sit with me, in a show of solidarity? We’ll chant “Hell No, we won’t go! Transmonitionday is not a work day! Hell No, we won’t go!” I’ll serve Kona coffe. We’ll go limp if the bahstads try to move us. Power to the People!
There’s nothing exotic or mysterious about me. I’m straight forward and easily read. What you see is what you get.
But I can pretend.
Solene Hoisan has opened Ancient Tree Kimono shop on the Edo Nippon sim. The sim is as beautiful as the kimono.
Demure and enigmatic might not be words you would use to describe me, but I can put on a good act with the right clothes. This skin is from Tsuki, and is very reasonably priced and perfectly done.
There is something about a kimono that brings out the elegant drama.
Even if only on the outside.
1st (everyday) Pic:
Skin: Pulse
Hair: Deviant
Lace top: Snowpaws Design
Cardigan: part of Pulse Holiday Gift dress
Pants: Sassy
Earrings: Eolande’s Accessories
Exotic Pics:
Skin: Tsuki Geisha Skin
Kimono: Ancient Tree Kimono Shop
Hair: Deviant
chopsticks: Kora made them for me
I’m not one to shop for skins. I find one skin that closely resembles my real life skin, build my shape around it, and wear that one forever. I’ll buy a couple of different makeups, and that’s about it. I hate adjusting my shape once I’ve perfected it- it’s so tedious and painstaking. And each skin is so different, it rarely looks good on my unmodded shape.
I used to take skin creators for granted. Hell, I used to take most creators for granted. I never appreciated the amount of work that goes into creating a skin. But my good friend Talia, creator of Paparazzi, has been perfecting a new line of skins for months. I’ve watched her work on it, upload it, ask for feedback, go back to the paints, work hours on end, upload again, scrutinize every inch… and all of these steps over and over. Watching this skin take shape over time has been fascinating and has given me much more appreciation for the amount of work that goes into a good skin.
Talia has put a lot of thought into her new line, including a new way of offering her makeups. They’re available on a tattoo layer, so that you can buy one skin, and then augment with make-ups. Brilliant, if you ask me.
Here’s two shades of the new line, Ethereal, on my unmodded shape:
Now, you know I don’t touch up the photos I post here- frankly, I don’t know how. So this is the natural freckled version of Talia’s skin, shot taken inworld and untouched. I love the freckles!
Here’s the same skin, with an added tattoo layer of makeup:
I think Talia’s hard work and attention to detail pay off here, and InWorldz is lucky to have a new choice for dewy, pretty skins. I’m especially fond of Talia’s signature apple cheeks. They look so sweet!
I have tattoos in the real world. I dislike most tattoos inworld, due to lack of detail and realism, so I rarely wear them. But I wanted something special, so I contacted Chopper Grubux. He does custom tattoos (among lots of other stuff, you should see his shop!), and he worked with me to create just what I wanted.
I love it! He was patient and worked with me several tries to get it exactly where I wanted it, in the size I wanted it. I highly recommend him for tattoo work.
Skin: Pulse, and Ethereal by Paparazzi
Hair: Vanity
Top & Jeans: Stellar
Today’s the last day! You can see the schedule here. I can’t wait for some of the live artists later tonight!
I had the pleasure of catching a couple of great DJs on Friday. My viewer was giving me hell when I tried to snap pics, so here’s the best I was able to get: (clicky to make ‘em biggerish)
I attended the InWorldz Music Fest back in October. There were around 22 avis there that night, and the lag was so bad I couldn’t walk, never fully rezzed, and crashed every time I snapped a pic. The local chat was slow and stilted due to lag and so many people crashing and returning.
The event this weekend, held on the same sim, with even more avis in attendance, was a whole different world. I didn’t crash once, everyone rezzed, and even with my cam pulled back to see the whole crowd, I could type freely and without lag. There was the odd chat lag, but otherwise it was virtually lag free and the local chat was so fun because of it. I think lag very much has an effect upon the community when groups are together. The freedom to type and keep up with several people talking in open chat, without lag mixing things up and making you have to type slowly makes all the difference in the world.
I have some idea of how hard our Founders and Jim have worked to improve the grid, and I notice the benefits every day. I hope there are even more avis at today’s Winterland Event, but I bet you my coveted bag of Kona coffee that there’s no added lag.
I miss blogging. Does it count that I write blog posts in my head all the time? I’m waiting for the app that posts blogs straight from my brain while I’m doing other things. ‘Course, you might not want to read unfiltered thoughts straight from my twisted noggin. It could frighten your delicate sensibilities.
Christmas break from school, yay! But my bartending job will keep me hopping with Christmas parties and dinners. I think I’m getting too old for these late nights on my feet dealing with drunk idiots. Why is it that every drunk person walks around saying “Yeeeerrrr my beeeesssst frieeeennnd!” to perfect strangers? Eventually I’ll get so tired I’ll wind up face down in a pool of my own coffee flavored drool. Recovery position!
There was a hired Santa at last night’s party. He was a good one, real beard and rosy cheeks, but far too young to be the real Santa. Can’t fool me. Tipsy office workers sat on his lap and did their best to be borderline naughty; I saw him roll his eyes more than once. He came back behind the bar on his break and had a Heineken, sitting on a case of cheap wine. With his hat pulled off and his jolly disposition missing, he looked like a guy in red PJs. I didn’t sit in his lap, but he did ask me what I wanted for Christmas. I told him I wanted what any good girl did, a bottle of Grey Goose and a pack of fresh batteries. He laughed a genuine belly laugh and looked just like Santa. I’m definitely on the naughty list, but that’s okay. I prefer it there.
I’m off work today. I have no jobs today. This is a rare and precious thing. I’m still in my PJs at 9:30 and it feels like heaven. I have tons to do, but for another 30 minutes, I’m going to sit here with my coffee and my wooly socks and my John Mayer, and I’m going to read. Or just stare into space. Or fall asleep. Actually, I think I’ll price mega battery packs at Amazon.
I’ll be back to blogging soon. Scout’s honor. (And if there are any scouts out there reading this and snorting at the idea of me claiming Scout’s honor, I’ll have you know I was a girl scout. I got kicked out, but that’s a whole ‘nother blog post. Who knew that trading kisses for cookie orders was wrong? Someone shoulda told me. I’ve been on the naughty list for a long long time.)
I hate the holidays. I’m a Grinch. Holiday music makes my ears bleed and Christmas shopping makes me postal. But I will admit, because I’m nothing if not honest, that I dig holiday dress inworld. It’s kinda like wearing a Christmas sweater, only not. If I could wear this kinda stuff to work in RL, I might like the holidays better. And my tips might be better, too.
Here’s just a few of my favorite holiday outfits so far:
From Stellar, and as always, the prims were spot on and needed no adjustment.
Shoes and hat included, bonus!
This outfit is from Rockcandy, the tights are from Dark Langdon’s Naughty Or Nice outfit.
And last but not least, my favorite so far:
Also from Stellar, includes a bulb for your mouth!
I dig anything that keeps me all tied up and lit.
Skin: Pulse, Shape: mine, Big hair: Deviant, Lil Hair: Vanity
I have a new client this week, a toy poodle who doesn’t deal well with change. Her owner is an elderly gentleman gone to visit his daughter, and this is the first time he’s left little Tart (no really, that’s her name) with a petsitter.
Tart hasn’t decided to like me yet. My first visit last night was spent belly down under a bed, talking quietly to her and trying to coax her out from her hiding place. Lucky for me my client is a tidy guy, so it wasn’t bad under there. I’ve spent a lot of time over the years under clients’ beds, and I’ve seen a few things I wish I hadn’t. Tart never did come out, and rather than make matters worse by forcing her, I left her there and came back early this morning to try again. Drove through treacherous ice and snow to get to her, ’cause that’s what I do.
There I was again, on my belly under the bed, trying to convince Tart that I was really very nice and meant her no harm, and that breakfast would be great, and that going outside to pee was the smart thing to do. I was talking very low, in my most persuasive doggy voice, and I do believe that Tart was just starting to consider the wisdom of my words when the alarm beside the bed went off. It was loud, louder than any alarm has a right to be, and it scared the bejezus out of me. I screamed involuntarily, jerked like I’d been shot, and bumped my head on the bottom of the bed. Tart bolted out from under the bed (yay!) and when I went to scoot out to find her, I found myself unable to move.
This bed is an old bed, like they just don’t make anymore. It’s got a gorgeous iron headboard, and iron springs under the mattress. My hair was tangled in one of the springs. I was working in about 12 inches of space, and I couldn’t get my hand up to my hair properly to get it untangled. My left arm is still in a cast, I couldn’t move it under there at all.
I was stuck. If I let my head drop down to bring my good hand up, the weight of my head pulled my hair too tight to untangle. But when I used my hand to support my head, my hair wouldn’t come magically freed. I pulled and pulled, but that just hurt and made my eyes water, and I suspect caused tighter tangles.
This went on for several minutes, and I think I made matters worse with all of my maneuvering. I couldn’t reach my cell phone in my pocket to call anyone, and they wouldn’t have been able to get into the house to help me anyway, as I always lock the door behind me. (Safety first! Then teamwork.)
I had visions of being interviewed on one of those TV shows, like the guy who had to chew off his own arm in a tractor accident or the lady who broke her own leg to escape a cave-in. Under my face on the screen it would say “Scalped Herself to Escape the Iron Death Bed“.
Finally I did the only thing I could do, I let my head hang from the hair, and I used my hand as best I could to yank and pull and tear my hair out of the spring. It took a long time, and I wanted to cry. Not from the pain, I’m a frequent flyer with pain, but from the knowledge that I really don’t have any hairs to spare. I’m vain, I’ll admit it, and it killed me to think what my hair was going to look like when I got it freed.
When I finally backed out from under the bed, I left behind a fist sized hank of hair . That may not sound like a lot to you, but you probably have nice, normal hairs. I have thin, fine blonde hairs. Every one of them is precious to me.
I had a heinous crick in my neck, so I was slow getting up. When I finally stood upright (cue the triumphant music!) and walked to the bathroom to inspect the damage, Tart ran behind me- right back under the bed. The little dear.
I’ve got a bunch of tiny little broken hairs sticking up right at the crown of my head. I look like a surprised baby chick on crack.
If Tart doesn’t come out tonight, I’ll have to resort to an old petsitter’s trick- I’ll lie on the floor and play dead with a can of tuna on my stomach. Works every time.
That’s what I thought just before I hit the ground.
This is what our yard looks like today:
Snow is pretty to look at, but it doesn’t break a fall very well. I know this, but I’m an eternal optimist. I have to be. If I didn’t think “this time I can do it” every time I walked up some stairs or carried a glass plate or walked while breathing, I’d never be able to do anything. So last night, when I took the Uberdog outside to do his business, and it was so quiet and crystal-y, I decided to walk to the back hill and look out at the trees; had a Hallmark moment.
My kids were out sledding yesterday, on that back hill.
When they came in, they dropped their disc sleds at the tree line and came in search of hot chocolate. Last night I went boldly walking across the yard and to the tree line, lost in a snowy reverie (kisses, fireplace, hot toddies…), and suddenly I was flying.
I had a moment of wonder, “Wow, watch me go!” and then a moment of terror, “Oh that can’t be good.” and then a moment of resignation, “I hate this part.” and then I landed on my back with my feet in the air and my head in the snow. The Uberdog thought I wanted to play, so he promptly dropped into position and pawed my face. Nice.
I sat up and found that I had stepped on a buried disc sled, which was flying down the hill as if a ghost was riding it. Sometime yesterday the girls had waxed the bottom of their sleds for speed, and so I’m lucky I didn’t break anything new.
Kora and I made a promise to each other: No snow at our InWorldz home. Ever. We both love his build at Equinox, and I have to admit that the ski hill is a blast. But no snow at home. He does have a thing for water though:
If you haven’t stopped by to see what he’s doing at Apocalypse, please do. It’s pretty incredible. It’ll be constantly evolving and I suspect he’ll never be finished. But no snow.
Logged into this, when I went inworld this morning to take blog pics:
Our new skinline: Asset Server Run Amok. Kora’s boots stayed on- he’s such a man.
“Have your adventures, make your mistakes, and choose your friends poorly – all these make for great stories.”
Chuck Palahniuk
Seeing as how I skipped my own challenge last week (look away, I’m hideous), thought I better shake my ass and get to this week’s. I think supporting new bloggers is important. I’m not going to get into the whole networking thing, and how our world outside of InWorldz still affects the inworld community. It’s the nature of the beast- it does affect it. And with so many new InWorldz blogs popping up, I hope everyone will take a minute to leave a comment, a word of encouragement, when you read a blog. Think of how you feel when someone gives you a thumbs up. It only takes a moment, unless you’re me and the stupid capture comment code is stoopid and you have to type it ten times, with your tongue out and your eyes squinting.
My advice for new bloggers is going to be similar to the advice others have given, trite but true- write for yourself, and write what you love. But, when I say write for yourself, that doesn’t mean ignore your audience. If I didn’t want to write for others to read, I’d just stick with my journal. I write because it pleases me, because I love to write. But I write for you. For my reader. For that person sitting at her computer in her PJs with her morning cup of getmethehellthroughthisday, or the guy at work sneaking a few minutes of blog reading. I’m aware of, and care about my audience. But the topics I choose are true to me, true to my own voice and viewpoint- and that’s what I call “writing for myself”.
I have a huge crush on Chuck Palahniuk. As a writer, he takes chances, and he has a lot of faith in his reader. He doesn’t wait for you, he doesn’t take your hand and lead you there; he forges ahead and takes it for granted that you’ll follow. And you want to, because the writing has grabbed you and if you let go you’ll never know what happened next, and who can live with that?
Now, I don’t fancy myself a Chuck Palahniuk, but I have faith in my reader. I’m not one to lead you by the hand, nor dress up my posts with random pictures to keep your attention. I count on you to go there with me, because you want to. And if you don’t, if your eyes go unfocused and you can’t read more than a paragraph without your mind wandering, then this isn’t the blog for you, and I’m not the least offended. I write because if I didn’t, I would explode into a bazillion tiny wet pieces and stick to the walls and ceiling. I have to write. It’s a happy bonus when others want to read it.
If you live for comments and blog hits and stats, you’re gonna write differently than I write. And that’s okay too. I’m sure there are tips and tricks for you somewhere. But if you love to write, if you feel a desire to create shapes with words and phrases- then do it. And don’t let anything stop you- most especially yourself. Write for your soul, not your stats.
And the 2nd part of my challenge was to post the first pic you took in InWorldz. Here’s mine:
This is the 2nd snapshot I took, a few days later, after I finally found a freckled skin and blonde hair I would wear.
While my shape has changed dramatically since that pic, I still wear that same skin and hair every day.
And one more from Chuck:
“We can spend our lives letting the world tell us who we are. Sane or insane. Saints or sex addicts. Heroes or victims. Letting history tell us how good or bad we are. Letting our past decide our future. Or we can decide for ourselves. And maybe it’s our job to invent something better.”
Look! I’m wearing shoes!!!
Yes, I know I was wearing boots in my last post, but those don’t count. They were a joke.
These high-tops are no jokes. They’re afreakingdorable in every way and I love them. They’re from Cow (so are my jeans) and can you see the little cow print bead on the laces? Squee!
You can’t have this sweater yet. I’m special. It’s from Paparazzi and it’ll be released soon, in a few colors. I only have it because Talia loves me more than the rest of you all. Ha! Suck on that!
Go here to the forum to view all the designs of the high tops, and watch the Paparazzi Blog for the sweater release.
Skin: Pulse
Shape: mines
Hair: Vanity
Jeans & Shoes: Cow
Sweater w/ undershirt: Papparazi
This blog is an odd mix of real life, InWorldz fashion and other InWorldz stuff. I like it like that, it represents me well. I have a real life that is rich and full and busy. One might even call it eventful, if bad luck can be considered events. Inworld, I am not a creator nor a designer. I’m a consumer. I buy items for my avi, my home, as gifts. InWorldz is a cheaper and more socially acceptable hobby than crack. And all the rest that I post here are just my opinions and thoughts on things as I come across them. You pretty much just get me here, in all my foul-mouthed, vodka-pickled, hard-headed glory.
Today’s post will delve into all of it.
I have a folder on my computer that is filled with snapshots from InWorldz. I snap pics all the time, and save them to hard drive. Most of those pics I intend to use for this blog, but many others are just shots of my daily life in InWorldz.
(Saera Pfeffer snapped this pic for me eons ago, on my dock)
One constant in these pics is a friend. I met Saera when she was just a couple of days old, and I was just a few weeks into InWorldz meself. She was one of those fast friends who just fits. She fit into the spaces around me, and we clicked like puzzle pieces. We shared a warped and twisted sense of humor, a similarly warped and twisted sexual vibe, and also, she was brilliant. Brilliant like Da Vinci and Michaelangelo and Georgia O’Keefe all wrapped up into one adorable little bundle of energy. Watching Saera build was like watching magic happen. I was in awe of her talent and felt smarter just hanging around her.
Here’s where we touch on some personal stuff: Saera was a girl in IW, but a guy in RL. She’d been a girl inworld for years. And I have always, always been a proponent of accepting people as they present to me inworld. Whether you’re a robot, a furry, a wee puppy or a cross dressing Lycan who walks on his head- I will treat you like one. I treated Saera as she presented to me- as a fun loving, twisted and clever girl whom I adored unreservedly. She made no secret of her male typist, but she was happy playing her female avi inworld. I was happy to have a girl friend to hang with.
But there was an attraction between us from day one that was always in the background. Our relationship could be an interesting study in the dynamics of avatars and their RL thinkers. While I was not in any way attracted to Saera’s avi or her female-ness (for lack of a better term), I found myself constantly attracted to the person I was getting to know every day. There was an inner battle, there was turmoil, because I consider myself totally straight and I very much dig all things manly- but here I was feeling this attraction to a little neko girl running amok in my life. It was disconcerting. I pretty much “play me” inworld. I look like me, dress like me, talk walk and fuck like me. I tried to wear a tail and just felt silly; tried to wear black hair once and just felt totally wrong. I am very much invested in and attached to my avi. She is me. Touch her hand, and I feel it. Kiss her lips, and mine tingle. And I like it like that.
But I really, really liked Saera.
Thank God the feeling was mutual. And even better, Saera had a male alt named Kora. Here’s where things get interesting… because they’ve just been boring up to now, yeah? Saera tried on her male alt, and let go of the “character” of Saera. I went on a date with Kora, just to see how it went and what we both felt. And instead of hanging out with a character, I had the unique pleasure and honor of getting to know the the man behind the avi. Kora became an extension of the male typist. And while Saera was always a part of him, there were parts of him that didn’t see the light of day inworld, by virtue of the part he had chosen to play. Getting to know Kora was like getting to know a new person, but one that felt safe and familiar and exciting.
Now, I know those blogs that get all lovey and sappy and hearts and flowers and gag. (Yeah, you know who you are, you romantic schmucks!) And, while I may have a romantic streak in me a mile wide, that tends to be a private side of me. You’re not gonna catch me getting all googly eyed and starry here. Yes, dancing for the first time with Kora, there were trumpets and fireworks and a hallelujah choir- but that’s none of your business. Back to our story…
So, Saera became Kora. But not without lots of discussion and massive amounts overthinking (I am, after all, a woman. We do that, I’m told.) Saera had friends, a place in InWorldz, a job at Equinox, and an inworld family… a whole inworld life! And a personality that was a real part of the dude at the keyboard. I didn’t want to take that away from him, nor take Saera away from InWorldz. It was no small decision for either of us.
In the end, Kora felt right with Whiskey. But truth is, Dude at the keyboard is right with, and for, the Girl at this one.
Last night, despite my exclamations that I was hardly dressed for it, Kora and I eloped. We discussed our future together much the same way we discuss most things; that is, with humor and tenderness and honesty. On my dock, where we have spent countless hours together. That was a private ceremony.
We did, however, make it official in public later:
19:53] Tranquillity Dexler: Whiskey..
[19:53] Tranquillity Dexler: do you?
[19:53] Tranquillity Dexler: ;D
[19:53] Astra Thorne: awww
[19:53] Whiskey Day: I DO!!!
[19:53] Tranquillity Dexler: and Kora, do you?
[19:53] Kora Daviau: I do!
[19:53] Whiskey Day grins
[19:53] Astra Thorne: CRIES!!!!
[19:53] Tranquillity Dexler: I now pronounce you.. um partners ;D
[19:53] Kora Daviau: thank you! 
[19:53] Whiskey Day throws flowers
[19:53] Whiskey Day kisses Kora
[19:53] Kora Daviau: cant get more official than that
[19:53] Whiskey Day: thanks Tranq
We danced to Arimo Teixeira singing the blues, with our friends and family around us, and no one made fun of my boots.
And I’m very, very happy. But not sappy. Never that. Slap me if I quote cheesy song lyrics or call him my Beloved. You have my permission. But you’ll have to deal with the Dude too. He’s not as nice as I am. (he’s nicer)
(First of all, a disclaimer: I’m so ashamed. I didn’t get a chance to post my own 3rd blogger challenge entry. Between a bout food poisoning, a borked heatpump and being swept off my feet by a handsome Dude, well… yeah, so you’re right, I did have time to take lingerie pics, sure, and thanks for pointing that out. But still.
I will blog my 3rd challenge this week, scout’s honor and no takebacks.)
I’ve seen gobs of new InWorldz blogs (gobs of blogs?) crop up (cropping gobs of blogs?) recently, and I think it’s aces that so many people have the bug (bug to crop gobs of blogs?). But often, people start a blog and then it sits all sad and neglected. Maybe they get writer’s block. Maybe they get shy. Perhaps they need inspiration.
Whiskey Shots proudly presents, the 4th of a series:
(insert Rockettes and Broadway Singers)
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. (it’s not hard! please do this.) Also consider posting your entry here at the forums.
Week Four Challenge: What advice would you give a new InWorldz Blogger? Whether you’ve been blogging a week or a year, you’ve got wisdom to share, I just know it. Go back and look at your very first blog post, and think about why you started blogging in the first place. Give a bit of advice to someone just getting started.
And while you’re at it, go into your InWordz inventory, choose snapshots, and sort by date. Show us the first snapshot you took in InWorldz. Look how cute you were! So idealistic, full of hope and promise. A pioneer, forging ahead to claim land in a new…. Well, anyhow. Show us the oldest pic. We’re nosy like that.
Thank you Thank you Thank you for posting these challenges on your own blog. Our blogging community is growing, and thats not a bad thing. I look forward to seeing your advice.
In which I show lots of skin, again.
Often as I wander the shops of InWorldz, I come across a new shop that I really want to love. I want to support an obviously new creator who is putting their stuff out there, I want to! But every now and then I find a shop where, no matter how much I try, and how many items I look at in their shop, I can’t love it. It’s not my taste, or it’s not made well, or it’s priced like the Hope Diamond dipped in crack. I rarely leave a store empty handed, usually I can find at least one item to love.
I came across a lingerie shop recently, and pretty much bought everything in the store. I loved it all. It was well made, nicely priced and I couldn’t be happier with the items. Sade Trafalgar Lingerie is located at Planet London. Here’s a just few of the dozens of sets I purchased:
(I would mention here that these pics might be NSFW, but I think it’s understood by now that pretty much my whole blog could be Not Suitable for Work, small children, or those with a delicate constitution.)
(And also, it’s 39 degrees in my house as I type this, so being all toasty warm and mostly nekid in InWorldz is helping me. Thanks for sacrificing yourself for my comfort.)
(Yes, it does indeed say BITCH on my ass.)
And it’s all Dude Approved.
All Lingerie from Sade Trafalgar
Skin: Pulse
Hair: (long) Emo-tions
(updo) VDI
Shape: my own
Cuddle Couch: Ayla Holt
Dude: mine
Poses: AAA Poses
Pose stool w/poses: Luth Brodie
If Murphy and Cosmic Joke had a baby, she’d use me as her rattle. She’d stick me in her mouth and cover me in milky drool, then throw me on the nursery floor to roll under the crib and live with the dust bunnies.
I am the forgotten slobbery toy of The Fates’ lovechild.
I wished for rain. I wished for wintry weather. I lamented out loud about how nice it would be to stay home and snuggle down. I complained when it was 70 degrees last week.
I should have known I was asking for it. This streak of bad luck has been solid for a while. I should have known better.
My heat pump has died an abrupt death. It’s 22 degrees on my back porch, and only 20 degrees warmer in here. I’m wearing gloves as I type this. In fact, I’m quite stylish in my fuzzy socks, sweatpants, 3 shirts, gloves, and a blanket around my head. I haven’t had any sleep at all, and coffee is the only thing keeping me remotely sane. I look like that crazy aunt in your family that no one talks about, only I don’t eat cat food (yet).
And you know what really sucks big fat donkey balls? (SBFDB if you’re in the know.) My fate is in the hands of the whim of a Heat & Air Guy.
These guys know they’ve got you by the short and curlies, and can do whatever they want and charge whatever they want. Whenever they want to. I have to beg to get one out here today, then hope beyond hope that they have pity on my poor bundled soul and don’t charge me out the ass for whatever work they feel like doing. Whenever they feel like doing it. A few days before Christmas.
I can just see him looking at his beeper, seeing a potential customer and thinking “Oh yeah, I’ll get my kids a 4 wheeler on this one! Sucker!” Then he sticks his finger in his ass crack and scratches it.
This man holds my home hostage to his whim. My bank account too.
I should bake cookies before he comes. Reckon chocolate chips would help bribe such a man?
While I wait for him, I’m editing pics of myself in my undies for a blog post here; it’s making me warmer. Is it bad to crush on my avi?
This truly is an InWorldz-ish blog, though you’d never know it from the lack of InWorldz content this past week. I haven’t even had time to answer my own Blogger Challenge, and tomorrow’s a new one! Must. Get. Bloggy.
But first, I need another pair of socks. And cookies.
I worked my way through college as a bartender. I learned more from that job than I learned in college; sad but true. I learned the art of conversation, the art of flirting, the art of bullshit and the art of deferring the advances of men without making them feel as if they’ve failed. I also learned the art of drinking just enough to enjoy a buzz, but not so much that it harshes my mellow.
Unfortunately, in college most especially, we don’t always apply what we’ve learned, so I also perfected the art of puking my guts out in a variety of settings and situations, holding my own hair and not once hitting my own shoes (while they were on my feet).
This weekend reminded me of college. I spent the better part of it regretting my cheap chinese food dinner from Hurl & Hibachi, lying on the cool tile of my bathroom floor and worshiping the toilet bowl. You know it’s bad when you wake up with your head wedged between the toilet and the tub, and even those who love you won’t come near the smell.
Dehydration is a bad bad thing. The hallucinations were freaky: Gandhi was sitting on my toilet telling me that I should really consider taking the blue pill because it would grow into a chair that I could drive to Little Rock. See, Gandhi needed a lift to a bat mitzvah in Arkansas. He should have ordered the Pu Pu Platter.
I’m ashamed to say that what finally saved my life was a bowl of chicken broth. As a vegan, I’m disgusted that it took animal juice to bring me back from the brink of death. But, it worked, and I live to write another day.
But no more Pad Thai Curry Tofu from Fu King Chinese, where my fortune cookie read, “Enjoy your self, and those of others.” I still can’t figure out what the fuck that means.
There are times when I want to reach through the computer and slap someone. When some blogger or forum post starts whining and woeing and blathering on about everything that bothers them, I want to just pinch them on the nose and tell them to put on their big girl panties and deal with it. Get over yourself. Open your eyes and recognize real suffering and work to end it. Stop taking yourself and your opinions so fucking seriously.
Or when someone gets all passive aggressive and posts shit about how they “hate it when someone __________ ” insert whatever gets their panties all twisted up. If you’re gonna rant on your own blog, have the balls to be direct about it. Twitter is especially bad for this, I’ve found. There’s some damn catty bitches out there, but they never have the cajones to name names. Because that would be rude. (Insert very effective rolling of the eyes here. I learned it from my daughters, the masters.)
And then there are times when I want to whine and woe and grouse about how bad I’ve got it. When I want to be a catty bitch and even be passive aggressive about it. Maybe say things like, “I hate it when people whine about what other people are doing; they should just mind their own business and examine their own motives. You be you, and I’ll be me, and fuck you if you don’t like it. But no, I’m not talking to you. Just you.” ‘Course that’s just the ubiquitous “you”. Not you. No, really.
I’m such a hypocrite. Somebody pull my big girl panties outta my ass.
I was bellyaching this morning, while driving, alone, out loud, about Christmas music. (If I hear Drummer Boy anywhere ever again, I’m going to stick a well sharpened pencil into my ear just to stop the pain.) Then I started complaining about other drivers. Then I started in on old lady drivers. Next I felt the need to whine about how I haven’t had a day off in forevah. Before I knew it, I had arrived at work, and had been whining, bitching and moaning all the way there. Spewing ugly rudeness out into the universe.
Now, if this were a Hallmark movie, or a nice blog, I would have an epiphany right about now about how good I’ve got it, and everything I should be thankful for, and I’d end this post with a long, sappy, and heartwarming missive about how beautiful life can be when you recognize all you’ve got.
Meh. Not so much. This isn’t a holiday movie, or a nice blog. This is real life and I’m a hypocrite. I know I’ve got it good, I know I’ve got a ton for which to be thankful- but I don’t give a flying fuck today. Today (and yesterday, and -OH LOOK- the day before that too) I’m feeling like complaining and whining and being annoying. And catty, too.
And aren’t you just the lucky one, that I have a blog where I can post all of this?
Don’t you just want to slap me?
The thing is, InWorldz is a good place. We’ve all seen it, talked about it, seen it commented. There’s some damn good shit here. Good people, good building, good creating, good leadership, good direction and good community. Hell, there’s great community! But if you take that for granted, if you spend your time bitching about the smallest, most inane things; or talk about other community members in such venomous and prejudiced ways; or nit picking every little post on a forum… you’re chipping away at our community. After all, what makes it such a great community? It’s not the world, it’s the people in it, and their attitudes, and their treatment of one another.
And once you start chipping away at that, well, won’t be long til you nick yourself.
There is good out there to show off and to talk about. Things that warm even my vodka pickled heart. Things like this thread at the InWorldz Fourms where residents have come together to save a unique sim with a pretty cool build on it. Deson Bowenford’s maze at Snake River is an interesting place to wander around, especially when you’re snockered. If you haven’t been yet, you should go check it out. Here’s a taste:
Mean people suck. Losing the thing we love the most about InWorldz would suck harder. And if you think I’m wagging my finger, then know I’m wagging it in the mirror.
It’s Wednesday, and you know what that means? Yes Yes, Friday is just two plus a wake-up. Or really, one plus, if you count like me. But it’s also time for a challenge. Lotsa peeps have started new blogs in the past few weeks (there’s a pretty complete list here at the forums), and it’s really exciting to actually have a blogroll to read each morning with my cuppa (or twelve). I hope these challenges will get you guys writing more, as I need entertainment, and it’s all about my needs!
Whiskey Shots proudly presents, the 3rd of a series:
InWorldz inworldz inworldz Blogger blogger blogger Challenge challenge challenge
(insert candygrams and land sharks)
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. (it’s not hard! please do this.) Also consider posting your entry here at the forums.
Week Two Challenge: Make it new. We all have our “spots” where we hang and feel happy inworld. Find a place you have never been in InWorldz, and go forth. Explore, snoop, and peek in the bedside table drawers. Doesn’t matter if it’s a shop or a sim or just a cool build that you stumble upon. Read the forums for ideas, or TP randomly on the map. Snap a picture or ten and show us what you found. And be sure to leave behind a nice thank you note and a half eaten donut so they’ll know you were there. And if you meet a new person along the way, so much the better! Take pics of them too, when they aren’t looking.
Thank you for making this work!!!
