Friday, May 13, 2016

Resting Bitch Face - My Story.

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Resting Bitch Face, let's discuss.

I used to get yelled at all the time for not smiling more.  I was a kid of the seventies, living in a world where there was war and discord.  Women were burning their underwear just trying to get people to care about the fact that they were pissed about not getting the same opportunities as men.  People were having sex in the parks, with everyone else.  People were doing drugs.  People traded in their souls for Rock and Roll.  Elvis was hip swivelling and people were looking. 

I didn't do drugs.  I was not having sex.  I was not burning anyone's underwear.  I would have been happy to have a bra, I certainly was not going to burn it when I got it.  I was never into Elvis.  I was a straight A student who went to church every Sunday and sang in the choir.  And the tragedy was, according to my grandparents, I needed to smile more. 

Or I was probably going to hell.

It was a wonder they did not call for an exorcist.

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

Bright and Bold.

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Awhile ago I posted a pic on social media of a fabulous group of older ladies dressed in an explosion of colours and patterns and styles.  Loved it.

I was surprised at the reaction it evoked.  Along with many who felt as I did, there were those who thought it clownish, a joke, and a tasteless display unbecoming for older women to adopt.  Someone remarked that older people are invisible no matter what they wear. 

I put my glasses on.

Friday, May 6, 2016

Travel Broadens the Mind.

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I used to drive the little lawn mowing tractor around the farm and pretend I was in Paris, riding a scooter through the busy streets.

I would shout out "bonne journée" to the cows as I drove by and they would moo at me all judgemental like.  I could tell they were mocking me and saying, "THAT's not a scooter and YOU are no fashion model."  I would shout back, "jambes hamburger!" (hamburger legs!)

No-one cared back then that kids got bullied by cows.

Sunday, May 1, 2016

I Prefer Stumps.

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You know living near the beach in a freaking hot country brings its own kind of problems.  (You may need to get a hanky for this one, or have a friend there to hold you while you weep.)

In Canada, we worry about things like, "if you don't put enough socks on when you go outside, you could lose all your toes to frostbite."  Then you end up with stumps and you walk funny.  People always blamed the cowboy boots and riding horses for the funny way cowboys walk, but the truth is they didn't listen to their moms, lost their toes to frostbite and now have stumps to walk on.  You try walking in Cowboy boots with stumps and see how funny you look.  (Please feel free to give a big shout out to moms here and the fact they do, indeed, know it all and should be obeyed.  Not MY mom necessarily, but me .. as a mom…)

Monday, April 25, 2016

Timeless Fashion.

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Sometimes our moms made us wear pants underneath our dresses when we went to school because none of them wanted to ever have to go to the church weekly "quilting lunch kits for underprivileged kids" mornings and be the woman whose daughter froze to death in the middle of the prairies one winter because you sent her to school with bare legs.  The stigma of that was almost as bad as if you were the one quilter who could not make your stitches all the same size.  They made those women wear a scarlet letter.  Frozen daughters was frowned upon and some of those ladies were power frowners.

I still have nightmares.

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Time Out - At The Beach.

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It has been a bad week, what can I say?  You know there is the bad type of week where you recognize you are having a bad time and you need help, and so you stop and take yourself to the beach and spend some time walking along it, getting everything into perspective?   And you breathe in and out, deep breaths, and the world suddenly falls into perspective again and this rainbow cone of beautiful light suddenly envelopes you and unicorns appear and angels sing? You come back from those recoveries not only able to cope with the crap in your life but you can "ommm" your way through rush hour traffic or numerous herds of cows all over the road.  You can take the most hateful teenager and crochet homilies and life lessons into their brains in between the swear words they are hurling at you until you are both sitting down and eating homemade cookies and drinking milk and the teen apologizes, tells you they love you and that you are the best mom ever.  You even use your quiet inside voice with your aging mother when she tells you, again - the over and over type of again - that you look like you have put on weight and you should have married the minister's son. 

Saturday, April 16, 2016

Do You Feel What I Feel?

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I have to ask, when people say things like "look great, feel even better" regarding second life clothes they bought from marketplace … what does that mean?  I have visions of people sitting there, putting the dress on their avi and then stroking their computer screen.    Do they know that computer screens are not like those books we had as kids … scratch and sniff?  I guess it doesn't stop people from trying.

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

High Definition.

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I never got the whole deal with trolls.  I thought they were butt ugly and their arms didn't even bend.  Barbie bent.  I was into bending.  Blame it on Romper Room - " . . . Bend and stretch, reach for the sky …."

When you are raised in the wilds of the prairies of Canada, you learn things about life.  Like road kill.  I know stuff about road kill that no-one should know.  I learned that things that no longer bend . . . are probably dead.

We weren't allowed to undress in daylight.  Once when my brother got in trouble for masturbating I suggested it was so dark when we had to get undressed how the hell else would we be able to find "it" unless we searched for "it" with our hands. . . and then . . . If you have OCD or something . . . reaching for "it" repeatedly would not mean necessarily that you were going to hell . . . would it?

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

The Tail End of Life

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Despite some of you playing the new fun internet game of "guess how this picture ties in with what Biss is writing about," this is not a blog post detailing how I am a horses ass . . . at least not intentionally.  If I do my job well today I am hoping you will join with me in saying my neighbour is one.

I am pretty sure I am awesome.  I mean I like hanging out with me.  What's not to love about me?


Even if none of that is true, I kind of appreciate that most days I am allowed to seep in my delusions, without any interruptions from some bratty kid/brother/adult who is telling on you or telling you what you should be doing and how if you keep doing "that" you are going to end up just like your Aunt Judy.  (note:  NEVER interrupt the parent telling you that by insisting that you actually admire Aunt Judy, and she seems to be a lot more balanced and happy than the person lecturing you does.  Some enlightenment tidbits are best kept to yourself.  They are stardust sprinkles just for you!)

Friday, April 1, 2016

These Aren't Bees But ...

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Hubby likes to make sure that he gets really natural foods.  We used to get our honey from the markets and a little stall complete with a woman wearing a bee costume, with black and yellow signage and a  declaration signed by some 1000 bees, authenticating that they have picked her picture out of a 12 face line-up as the woman who had indeed, stolen their honey.    She had bandages all over her body with penned wording and arrows stating "bee stings" and she had pollen on the end of her nose ... well we all hoped to God it was pollen, and we assumed, but no-one ever actually authenticated it.

She swore her honey was raw and natural.

I bought her Kool-Aid.   I totally was into it.  And I enjoyed her honey.

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

I See Dragons.

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I always thought fog was this really cool special effects that life sometimes gave us as kids, so we could play scary games and imagine monsters unseen, just beyond the trees where the fog obliterated our view.  It felt brave to wander off, wooden sword drawn, ready to do battle with dragons or demons ... Or my brother.

Turns out it is a scientific, nature thing.

I hate how they ruined all the childhood magic by making us learn science and insisting we did not have magical powers and that it is silly to be afraid of dragons.

I may have been awarded an "A" for putting down the answers the teachers wanted to hear, but I never let them take my soul.  I held on to my magic, AND dragons.

Sunday, March 13, 2016

It's A Real Bummer!

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I really enjoy watching women and their skirts.

You have the women of the code who wear the skirt exactly as it was intended, and then the ones that break all the rules. You have the girls who go through school with the skirt not a smidge above the school guidelines and the hem their moms sewed in, and then the ones that roll it up as far as they possibly can, risking a bit of a tummy roll over the benefits of showing some thigh. These fearless women take on life full on. They are not afraid to roll the skirt up, hike it up over their breasts and call it a dress . . . whatever it takes.

There was a mom of one of the girls at school whose article of clothing was always slipping off her boobs. And it was not because they were tiny, oh no! These were massive watermelon orbs who had worn down the enthusiastic, taut muscles of youth until they were holding on to the weighted melons with their fingernails only, screaming with pain. Even her knees whimpered in pain from the constant bashing they took from the hanging watermelons. I was never sure if she thought she was sexy or whether she was incredibly dumb and did not realize that a skirt almost always goes with some kind of a top. I do know that babies who were born during that time grew up with a profound sense of disappointment in their mothers. Us older kids grew up traumatized from the view of things one would rather not, SHOULD never have to, see.

Grandma said it was not polite to stare or to say anything.

Tuesday, February 16, 2016

February 15th, Get A Life You Romantic Delusional Idiot You - Day

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Guess what comes after Valentine's Day?

A whole bunch of NOT Valentine's Day.  

You can wrap up your hope chest in tissue paper and put it away for another year, this years Valentine's Day, not unlike the recent End of the Earth Barbeque or the Rapture Quilting Bee, was a big non event.

Prince Charming was a no show.

Face it, once the glow is off  that chocolate looks disgusting, no matter how bright and shiny the wrappings they put it in.  Not only is the smoke machine turned off,  there is always a big freaking bowl of disappointment cooking on the stove in place of your usual oatmeal.  It is best served cold, just to make sure you choke on every spoonful.

February 15th has always sucked.  It is the day you realize that your brother got 432 Valentines and you only got 3.  Two of them didn't have any name on them and said, "from your secret friend" written in the same handwriting used on the other one you got that said "from Mrs. Blackwell."  You check the gift box everyone was given from school, supposed to be full of treats that everyone's mother made for the party and realize that several of your cookies already had bites taken, and most of them looked like they were the practice run before the mom got into the real groove of Martha Steward cookie decorating.  A closer look at the Valentine the teacher gave you leads you to realize she actually forgot all about you and cut your "Valentine" out of the picture on the front of the book.  One of the legs of the little lamb is missing and there is a price tag half peeled off.

Monday, February 15, 2016

Knick Knack, Kitty Kat, Looking Back.

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A few years ago a friend stopped over and we ended up sitting in my office talking.  BIG mistake.   I happened to leave Second Life on the screen while we talked and to be honest, I wasn't even sure where I was.  But, as luck would have it, up popped the one thing you never want your feminist friends to ever see.. . a Gorean "couple."

There they were in all their "I-am-your-long haired-over muscled-bare chested-master-kneel-and-worship-me-half naked-while-you-wash the floor-and-practice-the-fruits-of-your- Gorean-masters degree-in kneeling-while-thrusting-breasts-out-poses." 

My friend was like "OMG what is THAT?" (helps if you do this voice in a shocked I-just-stepped-in-dog-doo doo type of scream while holding a cup of coffee that is now half in the cup and the rest on you, the floor, me, and the computer keyboard.  Oh, and if you are a stickler for realism ... really scream and then swear a lot here (in a very attractive female's voice of course).  Get your co-workers involved and play different roles.  Find out who can scream the best or has the highest tolerance for burning hot coffee on their bare skin. 

This is a highly interactive 3D blog after all.

Sunday, February 14, 2016

When Blue is Really Yellow.

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My brother should have been diagnosed with ADHD.  He only half listened to what people were saying and so usually ended up with half the instructions before he started things.

He missed that it was supposed to be a yellow buttercup flower that you held under your chin and if you could see yellow, it meant that you liked butter.  It seemed pretty stupid to me, why not just ask the person if you needed to know that?  Who walks up and gives someone bread and then whips out a yellow buttercup and wrestles the person so you can put the flower under their neck?

Evidently people in the world do it enough that the practice gets handed down from generation to generation.  I think it probably would be pretty irrefutable evidence that television is not as dangerous as being left to our own devices.

Why isn't someone solving that one instead of heading straight for world peace?  Find a way to genetically stop the whole hereditary process of sharing lame, irrelevant practices like the buttercup thing and then try world peace.  Who knows what valuable things you might learn that could help the process?  It might even hold the key to curing cancer along the way.

Monday, February 8, 2016

Mixing Movies, Mountains and Metaphors

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I was touched with the magic of The Sound of Music and that beautiful opening scene of her in the mountains, twirling, dancing, running ... singing ... to the whole universe.  "The Hills are Alive . . . .   It was like someone had hit the eject button on life and I was free falling and all the sense of what was and wasn't proper went out the window because I was out the window and I could die at any moment and no-one ever tells someone ejected from a plane what they should and shouldn't do as they hurtle through the air towards the ground.


I completely embraced the idea that life was exactly like that.  We were all ejected from our moms and we were free falling and we should damn well sing on the mountain tops and do whatever else we wanted and when we wanted because we were all going to die anyway.

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

Global Warming

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We were allowed to buy a fish bowl and two fish once.

My brother got a black angel fish and named him "Vlad the Impaler," and I got a little fairy like something fish with long fins.  I called her "Fluffy."

My brother's fish was all over the place, jerky movements, up, down, never content.  I am pretty sure he was a street fish and coming off of meth, or blow, or something like that.  He was antisocial and his family never called, ever . . . not even once.   My brother said he was a warrior and he was looking for other fish he could kill, rip their heads off, and impale on a spear.  He warned me that Fluffy didn't stand a chance, it was just a matter of time.   

Monday, January 25, 2016

Life is a Race to The Finish Line.

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You know when you are a kid and walking down the hall at school and then someone comes up and you realize is walking beside  you?  And then you speed up a little, and they speed up to keep up with you, and you speed up and pull ahead, then they are beside you again and you both look at each other and it is on!  He passes you, and you catch up, elbow him and move out front and finally you quite pretending to walk and break into a full neck run, at precisely the same second and before you know it, without a single word spoken between you, you are both heading for the finish line at the end of the hall, leaping over other students in your path, bursting through armfuls of books and NEEEEEEDING the win!   


How come there is no-one ever there to give you the first place ribbon?  That take a lot of skill and effort, and let's face it . . . someone could have died.

Copy Cat. Copy Cat.

COPY CAT


Ever since I joined Second Life, issues of copyright have been argued.  In the beginning it seemed to centre on people who had their work stolen and reproduced to sell in SL.  You had people who had their  whole SL for free off the backs of designers and artists who spent hours working on something so they could make a few Lindens.  I don't think anyone saw any grey with those arguments.

I am not a designer so I know nothing about the process and if I come across as being disrespectful to the talent or the hard work of the process then I have really missed the mark because I have nothing but respect and appreciation for anyone who makes the effort.  It is because I do not know all that is involved that it becomes muddy for me.

Thursday, January 21, 2016

Magical Moments

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We went to visit some people once.  I don't know why.  If you knew someone years ago and never stayed in touch, I don't get why people think it is a good thing to renew things.  Like maybe the people were doing you a favour and keeping Uncle Herman from eating another one of their good friends?  Maybe the people never liked you in the first place and they are just too polite to tell you that "no, they really have no interest in seeing you again."  Maybe they only are having you over because they can't remember who you are and have you confused with someone they actually like.  Or maybe, they forgot all about you  and they hate to miss out on an opportunity to rub it in someone's face that they hit the big times.

Oh ya I know, maybe they really missed you too and are dying to have you come over. 

Get real, and stop reading my blogs ok?