Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Knock Knock. Who's There?

archer 1

Don't you love it when you are bored out of your gourd and just when you think there is absolutely nothing going to happen, there is a knock at the door and it is unexpected guests?  I mean there is all that anticipation of wondering who it is when you go to the door - did you forget you ordered something?  Did someone send you flowers?  Have the children finally come out of their comas, remembered where you live and have come for a visit ... sooo many possibilities.  And then you open the door and it is those cute little people that show up to tell you that Jesus loves you or that you are going to hell if you don't love Jesus give them money.

archer 2

The hell warners are like the emergency warning system for bad weather except they have more wrinkles usually, speak in a sterner voice and aren't very helpful with what you are supposed to do with the information once they tell you.


" That is all."

"Have a nice day."

Today, this really cute little old man and lady came by and I was so excited to have some play mates.  Isn't that nice that they drive up in a whole van load of them and they get out and go knocking on the doors until someone lets them in?  Talk about Jesus in action, taking the church out into the neighbourhood and making a difference in your communities.

Anyway, John and Alice were already saying "thank you, have a nice day," and walking off before I even got out, "yes, of course I would love to hear your special message, won't you come in?"  I had to run after them and bellow.  I only bellow when the situation merits it.  On the prairies, raised by grandparents, you learn manners.  No random bellowing . . . EVER!. 

I bellowed.  "John.  Alice.  THIS is your lucky day.  Come onnnnnnnn down!"

They stopped, turned, looked at me, looked at each other, and got their walkers all tangled up in each other trying to get back to the door.  John won.  He gace Alice a wicked elbow and she ended up in the gutter, picking the gravel out of her teeth.  I am pretty sure there was a Jesus competition going on and the prize must have been something awesome like a cross stitched book marker with a bible verse on it.

I asked John if he needed me to sign anything to verify he made it through the door first.  He shook his head and I felt like such a idiot.  Of course God already knew. 

Once we got all settled John began, "Our message today is that Jesus loves you."

"SHUT UP!!  Are you serious?  No.  No he doesn't.  Really?"  I was gobsmacked.

Alice was nodding.   "Yes, Jesus loves you." 

"Does the bible tell you so?"

They were both nodding.

"No serious, how do you know?  What did he say about me?"

"No, Jesus didn't talk about you.  He didn't say your name or anything.  Jesus doesn't talk like that.  He just loves everyone."  Alice was beaming ... like a sunbeam. 

"So this is not a "hey Aria, you are special" kind of message.  This is "hey Aria, you are just the same as everyone else, no big whoop kind of message.   Like Jesus loves you.  Big deal."

I was feeling pretty disheartened.  I actually considered slapping the cookies out of their hands and suing them for making me more depressed.

"No, it is a big deal.   Jesus loves you and you should know."

"Why?  Does knowing get me some special prize?  Does he only help those who know he loves them?"

"Of course not, he loves everyone the same."

So Jesus loved me yesterday even though I did not know, and he loves me today now that I do know, but it is all the same.  He doesn't love me more today than yesterday?"


"Well yesterday sucked.  So does today actually.  So you are basically here today to tell me that my life sucking is exactly what Jesus wants for me because he loves me and there is nothing I can do about it?  Does this actually work for you?  Or for Jesus for that matter?  I mean normally  a good sales pitch is, sign up with us and you get 2 extra movies a month, or here have a tablet of a set of steak knives or something.  You guys are trying to sell, life sucks, you suck, and that is what you get and hey Jesus loves you?  ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?"

archer 3

John was pretty sure he could hear the van honking for them and he got up to help Alice out. 

I  asked if I could have some of their literature or something.  I wanted to give them my name and find out what time they had service but we were right in the middle of a miracle and  there was no time.  People lose their minds when miracles happen.  I rose from my chair to see what was the matter when what to wondering eyes should appear . . . Alice and John were about to disappear.   Alice and John had ditched their walkers in the rose bushes and were running, unaided, for the van that was already pulling away from the curb when they hurled themselves into the open door and everyone sped out of sight.

I know that people don't believe in miracles anymore but there was a miracle on my street, in my yard, today ... Because Jesus loves me.  John and Alice told me so.

SKIN: ryuukou verl caramel
HAIR:  MADesigns HAIR ~ GERTRUDE ~ Black
EYES:  Egozy.Eyes Enigmatic Collection
TEETH:  [:T:] Parted lips
NAIL POLISH: [Bamboo] Nails - Berry Blue
DRESS: SAS - Valeska HUD Dress for FFL
JACKET:  ** DIRAM ** GIFT - BLAKE Blazer - White
JEWELLERY:  Donna Flora LUMIERE necklace
SHOES:  Ever An' Angel Doodle Smexy Pumps- Teal
BAG:  *{Junbug}* Princess Clutch in Pearl
POSES:  Ma Vie

Sunday, March 22, 2015

OOPS I Did It Again.

autumn rose 1

I get all these invitations from men to join Non-English speaking groups and causes.  THESE are the men that want to date/marry me and declare they are in love with me, even when I point out the picture they are looking at is an avatar.  In the interest of complete disclosure, they should note  that not even Barbie is 9 foot tall and has a 3 inch waist.  But the heart wants what the heart wants.  At least I think it is their heart that wants it.

autumn rose 2

See Ken being anatomically ambiguous, member deficient, penis-less  has left so many of us women without a real sense of what the romance is all about.  We are still thinking pink and tuile and a prince that is an arm accessory that just comes out of box when the scene requires it.  We are waiting for our Barbie  Motorhomes and Dream Homes because everyone knows Ken is pointless if those aren't there.   We were all perfectly happy hanging out with Midge.  

No-one ever shopped for a Ken to just hang out in your apartment, eat all your cheese and leave his dirty underwear everywhere.   Even Mattel talks about the dress, the motor home and the last little aside is ... "Oh ya, and you can add a Ken too.  It is kind of like watching the whole show on a fabulous vacuum you can buy and right when they think you are about to walk away from the TV they throw is a set of Ginsu steak knives.  No-one really wants or needs the steak knives but hey, a vacuum AND a set of steak knives.  Ok.  That is how we were taught about men.  You get all the great stuff and they throw in an ambiguously sexually defined Ken.  How did that prepare us for life?   How many of you screamed the first time you saw peen and wanted to know "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT???"  THAT is the results of Mattel playing with our minds and creating unrealistic illusions about what Ken men and life is all about.

How were any of us supposed to be prepared for life?

Ya so anyway the groups etc.  Men already have so much to make up for and then they show up declaring their love and they are looking at a picture of Bliss.  OK, but even Bliss is pretty much my personality.

How can anyone spend a nanosecond with me and not know that I am not the "sit in the back quietly, nodding my head once in awhile" kind of person?   I need my words.  I need a loud voice.  I need to be talking/typing ALLLL the time.  I can't move those puppets fast enough to act out my every thought and comment.  I am not an angel or something ( see video with evidence of the abilityof angels to move magically and swiftly - study picture of me and then picture of angel - NOT the same person).

Please, if you are going to invite me to join a group please take the time to look at my profile and see that I cannot speak your language.  I am language challenged.  I only speak english, some french, and swear words.  I have lots of tones ... but actual other languages ... No.   I suck.  

My Barbie lived in a white trailer park.  She has significant limits.

Hey where are you going?

autumn rose 3

Can we still date?

Or is that a deal breaker?


I said too much again, didn't I??

SKIN:  [LoveMe Skins] Jessica Skin - Bronze @SKIN Fair 2015
HANDS and FEET:  SLink
HAIR:  .:EMO-tions:. * ROBIN * naturals
EYES:  Egozy.Eyes Enigmatic Collection  Brown
NAILS:  [Bamboo] Nails - Spring Peach
EARRINGS:  {me.}Trioh Earrings - GOLD
DRESS:  *LpD* - *Lidia* Dress Sand 2 Versions
SHOES:  ieQED skuld.cage.flat.tan
BAG:  *LpD* - *Gladys* Bag Orange
POSES:  Del May Poses

Thursday, March 19, 2015

I Wanted a Budgie.

road kill 1

I wanted a budgie. 

I think I wanted one because they came in pretty colours . . .  but also . . .  because they were not cows.  I had kind of had my fill of cows.  Dairy will do that to you.

road kill 2

Have I ever told you how much I resent the hell out of the fact that when I was growing up no-one talked about being lactose intolerant or needing gluten free everything?  That is right.  We did not have cell phones, You Tube OR any of the nifty medical conditions.  That shit is awesome.  I guarantee some girl locked away somewhere in the deep farm land of Saskatchewan came up with that stuff.  If I had heard of it, I would have read up, become the best lactose intolerant, gluton reactionariest, poster child that ever lived.  I would have got me a note from the doctor excusing me from all things farm and caught the first one horse pony out of there.

But I didn't have options.  I was stuck.  

So I wanted a budgie.

They brought me home a bird in a cage.  It was kind of little.  It was a sort of neon yellow and green strangely resembling the colour of Kool Aid crystals AND it was bald.  They told me it had issues because it was not loved enough as an egg and I could heal it with my love and care.

Well get the marshmallows and chocolate out, it was like a torch with gasoline on my fire.  I was big time into loving everything.  I actually WAS the poster child for flower children.  We were like hippies except we wore flowers in our hair before we smoked them and we never bothered wearing bras that eventually needed to be burned, they just got in the way of, and delayed, the loving.  I wanted to heal the world.  I was part of the movement of wanting to "teach the world to sing in perfect harmony" which got downgraded to just wanting to "buy the world a coke and keep them company."

I loved and cared for my budgie even though it was uglier than all get out and grew too big for the cage.  Turned out the yellow and green WAS Kool Aid powder and my budgie was mud black. "Fluffy" never ever grew a single feather out of its bald head no matter how much I loved him.

Then one day my brother was tanning down by the creek and he started screaming.  Fluffy was trying to peck out his eyes.  THAT was when I realized, Fluffy was not a budgie at all.   He was a vulture!   I went turbo hysterical that I had been lied to.   My grandparents had no idea what I was talking about.  WHICH lie was a referring to?    Turns out my family made a practice of lying to me about all kinds of things.  They said it was no big deal and I suspect they put valium in my oatmeal again, just to keep me calm and make sure I got on the bus every morning to go to school and not spill the beans on why my brother's face had all those peck marks all over it.   

I think that was the only month that my report card did not say that I talked too much and tended to interrupt the class with my plans to take over the world.

However, a few weeks later when a couple of cows were found gutted behind the barn and one of the farm hands swore he saw Fluffy flying off with a cow leg in its mouth, Fluffy mysteriously disappeared while I was at school one day. 

My brother pointed out to me that Fluffy he had probably answered the call of the wild and returned back to his natural environment which would not include a made over Barbie Motor Home with a Lace Canopy bed. He did his whole cycle of life speech. 

road kill 3

Some say growing up on the farm exposes you to the realities of life that city kids miss out on.  Some say it is an ideal way of life.  I just know that my brother and I were blessed to learn many important life lessons from the nature and animals around us.  My brother was right, animals had a natural environment that we, as humans, should learn to respect and not try to make them into our dolls and keep them in gilded cages.  

It was a really tender moment between us.  I hugged him and pointed out that Fluffy was buried behind the barn, where my grandparents had also buried his pet goat that did not run away like they said it had.  The truth was, that in the cycle of farm life, the cows were much more valuable than a vulture and they could not 
/would not allow for their precious cows to be taken out.  I also pointed out that both the cows AND the vulture were more important to them than he was, being as they did not kill Fluffy after he tried to disembowel him.   I gave him some alone time to let that sink in.

I know there are city kids everywhere reading this story and cursing their families for not moving to the farm. Farm kids ... the luckiest darned kids ever.

Oh, and cows are precious.

SKIN:  *REDGRAVE* Paper Skin --Trinity-
HAIR:  MINA - Ashton - Ombres 1.0
HANDS and FEET:  SLink
EYES:  IKON Kaleido Eyes - Oil
NOSE RING:  ~Tantalum~ Jawaher Hearts Nose Chains*
NAILS:  The Black Fair 2013 - GIFT! (*C - Nails RR black)  Chandelle
TOP:  // SEUL \\  Cotton Mock Turtleneck - Onyx  @ UBER
SKIRT:  // SEUL \\ Fringe Mini - Onyx  @ UBER
SHOES:  [whatever] Lithium - black
POSES:  Del May Poses  Beast,  Broken Trapeze, Castaway 1
LOCATION:  Zerkalo District

Monday, March 16, 2015

It's All About Getting Healthy.

interlude 2

For some reason we had the television on the other night when we were eating dinner.  I think we are both getting old and we forgot.  Also, when there are no kids home to boss around, you can do whatever you want to.  You can do that because it is your house.  AND, you are the boss.  So we were watching television and eating.  A  commercial came on about a nifty new machine that could turn your vegetables into pasta!


I am not kidding.

interlude 1

And the commercial goes on to show how easy it is and how a zucchini put in one end comes out the other end looking just like regular pasta except it is green, has NO gluten, AND it is much healthier for you. 

I had to make my husband get off his chair - he was standing on it and screaming, he was that excited.

Then they tell you that you can take those pasta-look-alike vegetables and put ... wait for it ... PASTA sauce on them and wow ... you will not believe that they taste kinda like pasta except they are not pale pasty white, they have no gluten, and they are much healthier for you.

Then they back that up by saying "recent research has proven that vegetables are healthy for you, much more healthy than all that pasta we eat." I had to pull my husband back from the TV screen where his nose was pressed so hard up against it that I was afraid he would pass out from not being able to breathe.  

I have no idea why that thought suddenly concerned me or why I felt the need to intervene with nature.

JUST PAY THEM some money for the machine, more money for tax, and even more money to ship it, and they will send you the fantastic magical pasta machine that changes ordinary boring vegetables into pretend pasta that everyone, except the announcer, cannot tell the difference between the two.  Send more money and they will send you watered down pasta sauce at 3 times the price of the less watered down pasta sauce you can pick up in your local supermarket.  Please disregard that the supermarket  jars are  prettier  and the ingredients are government regulated and probably even have some actual vegetables which can counteract all the chemicals in the pasta sauce they are trying to sell you.  In fairness, not once did they claim that the pasta sauce was healthy or nutritious.  They never declared it to be chemical free.  The never declared it to have passed any nuclear or bubonic plague testing.

Oh and you can't eat pretty.  Nutritious, healthy food must, by mother nature law, be sensibly plain and wholesome looking.  Sexy and pretty requires drugs and alcohol, diet pills and equipment that are sold on their own specialty channel later on at night.  Then you have to find an even later channel that sells the things to dress up pretty and sexy and play with it.  I am telling you, machines that make your vegetables look like pasta is the gate way drug here to maxing out your credit card and living a life of complete misery.

The commercial ended.  We resumed our places at the table.  I reached over and shredded my hubby's vegetables, in a flurry of fork and knife action,  went over to the cupboard, got out a jar of spaghetti sauce and dumped it over his plate.

interlude 3

My husband sat there with his mouth open and asked me, "what the heck?" 

"They used to call me "Edwina Forkhands" in school.  I can shred anything with a fork.  All you ever had to do was ask if you needed your food disguised in other shapes.  I also do meat origami if you are interested.  Think of the money I just saved you.  Eat your fake pasta.  It is getting cold."

That was the last night we ever watched TV during dinner time again.   We thought we just made up all the stuff we told the kids about mind control and how bad television is for you.  Turns out it was all completely true and we are lucky to still be alive.

You are such lucky people that I am a survivor and do not give up easily.

SKIN:  AKERUKA Meg V2 skin
HAIR:  !lamb. Tha (Mesh)
FEET:  SLink
EYES:  IKON Kaleido Eyes - Oil
BAG:  *LpD* - *Jane* Bag Brown
SHOES:  Bishes Inc ~ Fringe Heels Black
EARRINGS:  {Indyra} DeLourdes
JUMPSUIT:  Ricielli Mesh - Papi Jumpsuit/nude
POSES:  Epiphany

Friday, March 13, 2015

Knit One Purl A Few

fair enough 1

My family tried to put me in a knitting cult once.  I think they thought I needed some direction being as I had knitted a 3.7 mile "scarf" and had failed several interventions to get me to cast off.  They even brought in a local woman's group from some church basement.

They failed too.

fair enough 2

I did appreciate the home baked cookies and tea though and I made some swell friends.  You can never have too many "grandma's" to hang out with.

My family even tried to give me a  "gift certificate" to join a politically motivated women's knitting group at a local college.  I went to the information night.   Well, I use the term "went" rather loosely because I attended with one of the bigger women from the church group who scared me a lot.  She had hairy arms, almost a full mustache and no real definition between her breasts and 3 bellies.  She could probably wrestle a Mac truck and win.  I don't think she had bathed since Jesus left the earth.  I "went" willingly once the cuffs were locked on. 

It was knitting to "reclaim our womanhood." (office staff could sing "We Shall Overcome," while channeling Helen Reddy and "I am Woman")  They showed me pictures of important women like Mother Theresa, Cleopatra, Madam Curie, and Madonna . . . all with knitting needles.  (it was a couple of years before Photoshop but the glue work was damn convincing).    The inference was that knitting was the doorway to greatness. 

I am not sure Madonna was using her knitting needles for slippers or moose sweaters.

I might have been more convinced if they had thrown in some pictures of people like John Kennedy, Einstein or Batman.  Then it would seem like the power was in the knitting, not that women, who were awesome, happened to also knit.  And who knows, those women might have just been holding the needles for some elderly person who lost their teeth and were just out of the picture, on the ground looking for them.  Maybe they did not even know how to use them.  And where was any real evidence of anything they had knitted?  

They had big plans to have us grow our own wool, organically harvest it, and then to knit ourselves a rocket to fly to the moon.  I looked around and realized most of the women there looked exactly like the woman I was attached to, just at different stages in their lives.  Like some of them only had 2 stomachs, and some had bathed in the last decade and some only  had 3 or 4 hairs hanging from their chins.  I was pretty sure their research and the ensuing findings that connected famous women to knitting ... had some serious failings.  As in, it was all crap.

I gnawed off my hand in the cuff and escaped during the tribute to clogging, performed by the knitting groups belly dancers.  It was  accompanied by a woman playing the bagpipes ... at least I think she had a bag pipe ... hard to tell with all those bellies.

My family continually tells me the reason I will never be great is because I was so unwilling to do the very thing  great women were willing to do.  They gave me the chance and I was just too lazy to do the required work or to recognize what an incredible opportunity I had been given.  

I pointed out that it is pretty hard to knit with one hand.

They pointed out people paint with their teeth and that I still had two perfectly healthy feet.   

fair enough 3

I pointed out that they were assholes.  And I cried a lot and spent several years reading motivational cross stitch.  I wandered the streets searching for meaning and some place where my non-knitting failure ass would belong.  I did nose presses at the basement windows of several churches looking at the women's groups and wondering about what might have been.

That's it. 

You can weep now for me.  Or you can bid on a 3.7 mile scarf of lost dreams that I just posted on ebay.  It is soaked in the sweat and tears of a slightly used virgin and lightly crumbed with ancient home made cookies and weak tea.  Tiny pearled little drops of blood can be found in some of the stitches and if you hold it up to the light at just the right angle .... you can see angels.  

It is not even cast off yet.  I left that magic for the buyer.  

SKIN:  Sawode Desire   NLA
EYES:  IKON Kaleido Eyes - Oil
JEWELLERY:  Chop Zuey Crux Invictus
NAILS:  Adoness: Candy Queen Nails: Muffin
BAG:  -David Heather-Bally Bag/Sienna
LEGGINGS:  *Linc* Wool Panty Light Gray
SWEATER DRESS:  =Zenith=(Rose)High neck knit dress
POSES:  Ma Vie

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Running in High Heels.

morning coffee 2

My brother tried to run away from home in high heels once.

He made it just passed the corrals down by the slough.  Then he slipped on a cow patty, caught his heel in a gopher hole, and he was down for the count.  

A couple of cows tried to revive him.  Well maybe the one who licked him did.  The one who peed on him may have remembered him from an unfortunate milking incident earlier.  People pee on people here in Australia when they get stung by a jelly fish and that is a good thing.  I am not sure about the whole cow take on it.  Humanitarian or not?  Discuss amongst yourselves.  

morning coffee  1

I saw him go down and heard something like bones crunching.  Sound carries really well in the empty prairies.  He broke his ankle. 

At least I think it was broken.  I could hear him screaming, "OH F**K, Holy Mother of God, I've broken my F**king ankle."

But I don't like to speculate.

I watched him crawl back across the cow patty infested field, through the duck pond, under the electric fence which he didn't quite clear, and then up to the steps of the house.  I was sitting there eating some popcorn and sipping green kool aid.

I figured the pain must have really messed with his mind.

It was the only way I could explain why he would have dragged himself  all the way back to the very same people he had sworn at earlier and said that he would not get in the car to drive with them anywhere if they were the last people on earth giving him the only ride left to get off a burning planet.

Being as those people were probably not going to want to drive him anywhere after that out burst, I thought he might have been smarter to drag his broken foot towards the hospital.

morning coffee 3

It might be an interesting study for Harvard to take a bunch of brothers, dress them in high heels after a fight with their parents where they insult them , and have them flee across the prairies.  We could figure out how many make it, how many break their ankles, and how many have enough common sense to drag themselves in the right direction. 

I think my brother would be up for it again, in the name of science, I mean.  If not, that is what cattle prods are for, right?

SKIN:  LAQ ~ Elena [Peach] Glow skin
EYES:  IKON Kaleido Eyes - Oil
HAT and HAIR:  Maitreya Ymre
EARRINGS:  AandAna Limited Simple Earrings
NAILS:  [Bamboo] Nails   Drow
BAG:  **SHINE** Mesh Satchel bag/ Black
SCARF:  Ce Cubic effect stole(Dark Gray)
SHOES:  EC  Box Ysaline Heels
SUIT:  [LeLutka]-Aviva Suit-Bean
LOCATION:  Mayfair

Friday, March 6, 2015

The Night Before the Big Day - Anything Can Happen.

dressing room 2

My girlfriend, who owned a hair salon, got a call at closing time on a Friday night from an unknown man.  He was getting married in the morning, had forgotten to get a hair cut, and was desperate.  Please, please, please, cut his hair.  He would race over, pay her so much money it would be worth it, and she would know she had blessed a marriage and saved his life.
dressing room 1

My girlfriend struggled with the answer.  She was tired and everyone else had gone home already.   What if the guy was a pervert or something?   On the other hand, it was for a wedding, just a man's cut, AND she could use the money. 

She hummed and hawed and eventually agreed.

The man arrived about 5 minutes later and thanked her profusely, gave her the money he promised up front, and showed her the invitation and a pic of his bride to be at their engagement party.  She was greatly relieved and got him all gowned and set in the chair while she went into the back to put away a couple of bottles that she was in the middle of refilling when he had called.   

As she entered the main part of the salon, she could see the client sitting in the chair, both hands under his cape , in the vicinity of his lap, and his cape bouncing up and down in an incredibly familiar and disturbing gesture. 

My girlfriend thought she was going to be sick.  He was clearly between her and the door, as well as the phone and even her bag with her cell phone which was locked in a cupboard underneath the reception desk.

In panic, she grabbed the heaviest thing she could find, which was a hair blower.  She came up behind him, smashed him over the head, watched his body slump, and ran for the phone.  She dialed 911 and raced out into the parking lot to wait for the police.

You can imagine how upset she was as she waited for the police, kept one eye on the salon and considered what a narrow escape she just had.  Who knows what might have happened to her?  How could she have been so stupid as to let a man into the salon after hours when she was alone?

The police came and went into the salon.  The ambulance arrived, the police allowed them in and they re-emerged shortly afterwards and wheeled the man out on a stretcher.   The police helped load him into the ambulance and had a few more words with him before they closed up the back doors and sent him off to the hospital.   

One of the officers came back to where my girlfriend was waiting.  He asked if she was ok and let her know that the man was going to be alright but would probably have a goose egg in the morning.  She asked about the charges and what would happen next and the police officer tried to comfort her by reassuring her. 

He did not think that the man would press any charges.

dressing room 3

It turns out, the man was cleaning his glasses.

SKIN:  LAQ ~ Elena [Peach] Glow skin
HAIR:  =DeLa*= Mesh Hair "Adriana" Blondes
              Magika [01] Tomorrow
EYES:  IKON Kaleido Eyes - Oil
LIPSTICK:  [ a.e.meth ] - Liquid Lipstick (Raspberry)
OUTFITS:  Butterfly Effect *BE Designs* - Fidelle. Red
                  Butterfly Effect *BE Designs* - Kimberly. Red Valentine
SHOES:  SLink Sydney II Stilettos Black
POSES:  Ma Vie

Thursday, March 5, 2015

Because I Am A Girl.

lonesome when you go 1a

My brother went on a really long train ride once.  It was pretty exciting.

I was the one who got to help him pack and get everything ready.  He was going to take the train  to California so he could go to Disneyland.  We had relatives down there who would be more than happy to have him stay with them and show him around.  I was pretty bummed that only he was chosen to go but it was pointed out that he was older than I was, AND he was a boy. 

My being a "girl" was the final nail in many an unplanned coffin that contained bits and pieces of my "never got to experience" childhood.  

lonesome when you go 2a

I could live with it or end up living with the nuns in the remote north of Saskatchewan.  None of us were Catholic but the nightmare of the nuns was shared among all faiths.  I can't be sure, but I think the whole interfaith movement/collaboration might have got its start from that very fact.  We shared our demons long before we ever got around to sharing our charity.

I packed my brother's things and tucked in some tasty treats for him to eat along the way.  I had no experience with train food and was not sure we could trust that they would feed him properly.    I walked him to the station and waited with him there until the train arrived and he was in his car, all settled.  I waved goodbye until the train was out of sight and then I walked slowly home.

I don't remember the exact moment when everyone else started to miss him, but I do remember a lot of running around and screaming and looking in the slough out behind the granaries.  

They didn't find him.  

After about a week someone got around to asking me if I had seen him .

And I had.

A week earlier when I tried to stop him from running away.  I saw him jump the train with his suitcase and disappear out of sight.  He said he was heading to California to go to Disneyland and I tried to tell him no trains from here went there but they knew my brother, he always thought he knew everything.   I let them know that I warned him not to mess with Grandpa but he was pretty cocky.

They asked why I had not said anything and although I was tempted to remind them they never asked, me being just a "girl" and all, I explained the truth . . . that he had threatened me that if they ever came looking for him and found him he would say that it was all my idea, I told him my grandparents were sending him and that I even packed his suitcase and put food in it for him to go.  

I confessed I had put food in his suitcase when I knew he was going to go no matter what I said because I was so afraid that he would get lost in the middle of nowhere and starve to death.  

Then I cried.  I cried a lot.  I cried because even if you hate the tools you are given, you learn to work with what you have.  I was revving the whole girl thing ... to death.

It took another month to find him.  He was wandering the prairies in Manitoba, eating pemmican and wearing a rabbit skin jump suit/skirt ensemble.  I was a tad disappointed, in myself mostly, that I have packed any food at all.  Had I not done that, he might not have ever made it back. 

My good nature "girl" heart gets the best of me sometimes.

Personally I think the whole event made a man out of him and helped him turn that corner from childhood.  He didn't wander around dreaming of spinning tea cups and princesses anymore.   The innocence, all those illusions ... were shattered.  He learned that sisters can be damn scary.

He was pretty much consumed with a single goal  . . .

. . . to get even. 

I told him the wilds can do that to a person, play tricks on their mind, and that he was completely wrong about my involvement.  I think he either bought it eventually, maybe gave up on trying to get even, or just forgot about it, forgave me and moved on.  I can't say for sure but I do know that it was right around then that I lost all respect for "men" and decided that being a "girl" was probably the better choice anyway.  We would never forget or forgive AND if the shoe were on the other foot not only would we have been able to walk a cat walk in total pain, we would have gotten even and then some.   We can get do all that even when the whole situation is completely our fault.    It's where you are guilty as hell but you can act innocent and are the injured party at the same time.

lonesome when you go 3a

It is called multi-tasking.

Because I am a girl.

Discussion ended.

SKIN:  Glam Affair  Alice Jamaica - ShinyShabby 03
HAIR:  ""D!va"" Hair "Emilie"(Brown diamond) @ ShinyShabby
EYES:  IKON Kaleido Eyes - Oil
LIPSTICK:  Tessa gloss - magenta
DRESS:  Bomshie <*>B<*> Anessa Flower Power Dress
COAT:  * ** DIRAM ** GIFT - MEGAN COAT - Fushia *
SHOES:  .::Loovus::. Signature Stilettos [Reloaded] - Sangria
POSES:   Bauhaus Movement  My Shoes, Hekate, Nanny Bunny
LOCATION:  Gehena Bauhaus

Monday, March 2, 2015

I Am Tall and You Are Not A Lady.

sunset run 2

I am really tall.

I arrived at a sim today and was camera-ing around when I received a quick note.

"Crap you are so tall."

What do I say?  

sunset run 3

A million ideas went through my head, but in the end the sensible me, the me my grandmother liked best, typed in a colon and a curved bracket making a little smile.  I waited to see where she was going with the whole thing. 

That was it. 

She was done.  Having blessed me with her astute observation of life, of me, she was off to spend her Lindens, weaving in and out of the shopping crowd.  I wondered if she was greeting her other fellow shoppers with more one liners.  "Crap, you are so blonde,"   "Crap you are so male,"  or even "Crap, you have a purse."  I mean I couldn't argue with her, my avatar is tall.

But this was a fashion event and as I read her profile I could see that she had been in Second Life for almost 7 years and surely she has come across the blogging/models/fashion crowd of Amazonish women.  AND, even if somehow she had escaped that because the rock she lived under was particularly dark, how about, "Hello "  and then, "crap you are so tall?"  How about  a bit more follow up conversation so it wasn't so assaultive?

Even more amusing was her profile.  I learned that she was into role play.   I considered that role play would expose you to even more diversity of characters, which is what Second Life is all about, is it not?  I mean we all get to interpret our world in any guise we choose ... be it human or animal or mechanical or other.  We can be big or small, fat or thin, ugly or beautiful ... it is all our call.  I find that incredibly fascinating, that even the human form can be interpreted in so many diverse and interesting ways.  I would never think to tell someone else what they should or shouldn't be.  I might not like some interpretations as much as others but it seems to me that the entire premise of Second Life has to be bound by one single right that each of us should be willing to fight to the death to preserve.  That is, the right to interpret our world in whatever way we want.

My grandmother's "me" might think something odd or not as attractive but she would never say that to the person.  I would never want something I say to ever take away from someone's creative efforts.  If I could not find something nice to say, I would not say a thing.  Real life is full of pain and angst over how we look to others, why create a virtual world with that same pain, especially when we have a choice?

My new observant friend had rules for people.  She had instructions for how they dressed when they interacted with her and insisted they use an AO.  The rest of the profile was dedicated to how she expected you to treat her.   She mutes rude people.  If you speak to her in IM polite or rude, be assured you will get back in kind exactly what you give.  She reminds people to think of how they would like people to speak to their sisters or mothers, friends or wives ... obviously suggesting that is the way you should speak to her.

And there in lies the point of all of this.

Isn't it interesting how many people have two sets of rules for life?  There is the way they expect other people to treat them, which is often complicated with a whole set of strict rules, and then the way they treat others, which is basically any way they want including ignoring all the rules they have for other people to treat them.    They are never held to the same standard that others are.   And they don't see the contradiction in that.  They really don't.

sunset run 4

I didn't add her as a friend ... but then she never asked.

I think I blew my chance when I channelled my grandmother . . . she didn't mention grandmothers on her profile.  Let's face it .. . I am too tall AND too old for her.  

SKIN:  Glam Affair - Brandi Sweet - ( Asia and America )
HAIR:  AandA Fina Hair 1
EYES:  IKON Kaleido Eyes - Oil
PANTS:  [hh] Annika Leather Pants Red
COAT:  -David Heather-Funnel Coat/F/Burgandy
BOOTS:  * Morphine: Ghail's Knee Length Boots (Black/Rigged)
POSES:  Di's Opera
LOCATION:  floorplan

Thursday, February 26, 2015

No-one Believes It Is About The Fashion Anymore.

I turned on the computer to show a friend Second Life, wanting her to see all the fabulous fashion and different styles of avatar around the sims.   It is one of my favourite things to do.  It is my reason for being in Second Life.

  I tried several place.  This is basically all I could show her, apart from my avatar.

This is my Second Life now.  I want the old one back.

It used to be we complained about people being inappropriately naked around the grid.  We were so concerned we packed up all evidence of our adulthood and hid it in an adult sim so we could protect those of us still navigating life with eyes shut pretending we are too special to have any naughty bits and for others, knowing how special they are, never wanting them tainted with someone else's eyes beholding them, except the person you marry, maybe ... possible but not necessary.

Now we wander Second Life and we see nothing but disembodied bits of ourselves and our outfits, super-sized, suspended in the air, while the rest of our nakedness stands off to the side trying to coax the pigeons home with some special bird feed.  Thank heavens most penises have been given names they have learned to respond to.  Add in everyone making up their own names, I have no idea who anyone is, so I just try to tip toe on through without knocking someone's penis off or accidentally bowling down an entire crowd with someone's ginormous head.

"Attention shoppers!  Clean Up Aisle Three."

What is the etiquette here anyway?  Where do you put your eyes when you are talking to a headless body?  Do you look the other way when you run into a these bits and pieces or do you stop and help try to collect body and clothes  for someone only to have them say, "THAT is not my ass?" 

"Attention shoppers, Someone has turned in a rather large ass at customer service.  Please check your inventory and make sure you have yours before you leave the store."

Someone starts talking to me and for the life of me I have no idea what they even are, let alone who.  I read their profile and I get that they are famous and special and have rules but  if it weren't for their pictures, I would not have a clue.   It is hard to be impressed when all I get is a jigsaw of the avatar formerly known as them.  Especially  when all you see is the hair that ate New York City floating through the sky.    I suppose it does make inspecting things easier.    Hard to know the laser beam is on you when "you" are all over the place.

It could be fun if all of a sudden all the suspended items just dropped onto the ground and the public announcer hollered "PEANUT SCRAMBLE" and everyone dived in and grabbed whatever and then had to wear what they ended up with. 

I have sat there sometimes and just followed people around to see if they ever come back together.  I realize I look just as pathetic to them as they look to me but that is fitting somehow isn't it?  We all live our little lives thinking we are perfect and everyone else is a mess?  I like that Linden Lab is feeding our delusions in a very real way through a virtual experience.   I am perfect, what the hell happened to you?

I am also grateful the viewer has allowed me to at least conduct mercy killings on the spot and I can simply derez what remains are left and put people  out of their misery.  Oh, the power of it all!    I don't even worry anymore about the morality of it all or whether I am being polite.  I just want to make my eyes stop bleeding.

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Failed Medical Evolution. Intervention Please.

lion around 1

With all the medical advancements made over the past few decades how come no-one has come up with a better idea than the "tie in the back" hospital gown?  It has not evolved to any great extent, it is exactly what it once was, the description of which involves words I am not allowed to type here.

lion around 2

As if it was not bad enough with the cloth version, someone came up with the paper one.  If that was meant to divert our frustration it failed.  So now you can tell how high class, or not, your doctor's office is, according to their choice to gown for you to wear.  Now you can say, I may look completely stupid, but at least I am sanitary and HEY, I can pretty much be assured that the patient before me didn't also wear this one.  (unless of course there is a new university degree for being able to fold items, once used, in such a way that you can repackage them and they look brand new - which I am not denying could have happened.)  

Personally I don't think it matters one way or the other because they are all ridiculous.  As an adult woman over the age of 30 who has had several children, (you will understand the need for the bold italics further down)  I am beyond giving a crap about getting naked in front of the doctor or anyone else for that matter.  I don't bother looking at myself, I am certainly not going to look at someone else looking at me.  Go look at yourself if your curious.  Want the opposite sex?  Turn on the internet, the naked people will find you.  Try heading for the sites that are for children.  They are always there.   I figure that is what they pay as doctor the big bucks for.  Someone has to deal with those of us least likely to ever be chosen to appear in Playboy, and our medical concerns.

And while I am at it.  One size does not fit all.  Seeing people wandering the halls, waiting for their name to be called for a medical test of some sort, where the gown can't make it up over their upper arms and hangs around their chest and flaps open in the breeze makes that pretty apparent.  And all those beautiful, size 0 women have private doctors at Playboy or Disneyland, and any men that size are with the rest of the Pygmy tribe somewhere in a jungle.

Okay so he asks me to take off my bottoms and leave my underwear on and put on the gown, tie in the back (depending what he is looking at), except no-one ever ties anything.  It is basically a sheet to cover me ... with arms.  Then I either lay face down or face up, again depending what I am there for.  I have never understood going in with an eye or toe complaint and having to undress completely.  My point is that what he needs to examine is open and bare and what he doesn't ... Is underneath and unseen. 

Do some people actually feel comforted with ... He sees me - full frontal nudity -  but thank God he did not see my back or my butt?

And what is with the stepping out of the room so I can get undressed??  Does he think I am going to do some kind of seductive dance for him if he stays?  Concerns for my own modesty ... Hello,  go back and read paragraph 3 and the part about children.  I lived through a marathon of never having any privacy ... not in the bath tub, the shower, on the toilet ... and certainly not dressing.  I know how to fend for myself when getting dressed.  As for me being inappropriately stimulated by his presence ... please go and reread  paragraph 3 and understand I am too exhausted for that kind of nonsense.

And then, after he pushes and prods my naked body with the "modesty gown"  dangling off one hand where it ended up after moving it a bit here and there for the examination, because let's face it, it just gets in the freaking way ... he leaves the room again so I can get dressed.  I am laying on the table practically butt naked.  He has just touched parts of me I had forgotten I even had.   Like again what?  Putting on my clothes completely inappropriate because of the sexual overtones??  Paragraph 3 people, paragraph 3!!!

lion around 3

I'd be quite happy to show up for the appointment in a trench coat, commando underneath and just save us all time and needless expense for modesty gowns.  I think it would be much better if those who are uncomfortable just close their eyes and they don't have to see their own body, anyone's possible arousal, etc.  Then play some church music and they can just pretend they are somewhere else.   

Evidently that technique can get you through 75 years of marriage, it can certainly get you through a 15 minute doctor visit.

SKIN:  Glam Affair - Skye - India - 02
EYES:  IKON Kaleido Eyes - Oil
NAILS:  ::SG:: CM2015 Neutral Nails*
EARRINGS:  MG - Earrings - Flower Heart
PURSE:  -David Heather-Faux Purse/Earth
SHOES:  Loordes of London-Italian Nights-#12
DRESS:  Paperbag. Naomi Dress Tangerine

POSES:  Bauhaus Movement  Arialee, Erica, Marilyn 2