Friday, August 19, 2016

Pretty Much Like Albino Garden Gnomes.


Some women worry that they might not look as good as everyone else. 

They spend hours buying the right dress and primping and preening before the mirror. They have been waxed and shellacked, kneaded and sculpted, cut and dried, fluffed and puffed, lipsticked and powdered ....

Really when you think about it ... how you look is really about the paint job. We women are like those tacky lawn gnomes all white and plain - handed out to be painted in senior ceramics 101.  We are undecorated Christmas trees, we are cakes without frosting . . .  until our Avon order comes in.  Then we can be anyone … especially if we have You Tube and we watch some prepubescent boy show us how to do it.  Today I am a Meerkat.   (It is all in the strokes you use on the eyebrows and then contour the nose).

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

I Can't Find My Panties, Do I Have Alzheimer's?


I feel cheated.  I never went to a party where a bunch of girls sat around in beautiful lingerie all evening, looking like models.

Why didn't I have any model girlfriends?

Why weren't there any model girlfriends at my school?

Why wasn't I a model?

I had underwear.  It did what underwear was supposed to.  Sometimes, at Christmas mostly, I got some  shiny synthetic underwear that had a hint of lace or a bow sewn on them somewhere.  Each pantie had a different day of the week embroidered on it.  I don't ever remember worrying about whether I was wearing "Monday" or whether I grabbed "Wednesday" by mistake.  Is this maybe the reason why my life is such a mess?  Was I meant to wear the right days.  Was it a magical ritual that would have made me popular?  I have to know.  FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SOMEONE ANSWER ME.  Did it matter?  I can't remember it mattering.  Do you think this is the onset of Alzheimers?  I think forgetting your underwear is one of the signs.  I think I read that in one of those click sites where they list the 5 warning symptoms that you are dying but I can't remember for sure and I KNOW that not remembering things was on there.

Unless I am not remembering properly.

Saturday, August 6, 2016

Keeping It Real


I tried to sue my grandparents for all the angst they created in me growing up. 

Telling a child it is "raining cats and dogs," and then yelling at me about needing to put on my rain gear before I could go outside was traumatizing.  First of all, it made me highly nervous because I could never ever seem to get my gear on fast enough.  Secondly, it created a life-long issue with rubber boots.  I am not quite sure what the issue is but if I say that I have one, it is plausible and it keeps me from having to shop for them or from ever having to put on a pair again considering on the farm, there were no cute little shiny yellow ducky rubber boots, or even shiny red ones.  That is for city kids.  Farm kids get standard mud green/gray, dual purpose boots meant for both rain and cleaning out the barn.

Monday, August 1, 2016

Trauma Bay 37924E. I Was There, With A Horse.

bbbia 2a 

There I was, even in my viewer, with a leg tucked under an arm, my clothes floating larger than life, and a head  . . . somewhere.   My breasts, with holes where the nipples used to be and my pelvic area, fully rezzed and disturbingly near an equally disassembled but with more provocative bits rezzed man.  "Hotstud 347." 

Evidently the other 346 Hotstuds could not make it.

Second Life, where you get to play out all your fantasies.  Except this was never part of any fantasy, ever.