Me and Elvis (or Rub My Belly for Good Luck)

Hey hey hey everybody, I have to wave goodbye to you here as I cram my stuff, two cats, a pet hermit crab (that's Mr. O'Bannion to you, though) and a bunch of plants into my 10-year-old beater Toyota and head across the country to Memphis.

Please pray for good weather, safe driving . . . and credit cards that don't get declined, specifically mine.

I have to *cough* temporarily move into my childhood bedroom for a few months while I help my mom help my dad recover from a surgery (did that make sense?) and, in the meantime, fix my screwed-up life.

My parents still only have dial-up Internet that's connected to their only phone line, so I guess this is goodbye for awhile.

On the bright side, I have an adorable two-year-old niece there that I can't wait to get my arms around. And I have a high school sweetheart who's magically single now (and still attractive!) who says he's got dibs on a date with me when I get home, so keep your fingers crossed.

Because after all, my life would be so boring without random pregnancy scares.

Speaking of, I grabbed some demo pregnancy shapes out of curiosity the other day:



YEAH! I make one bad-ass pregnant SL bish, if I do say so myself. Whut whuuuuut???

And I know I haven't changed out of that outfit in a week. Say something nasty and I'll SLAP you with my monster DEMO hand and then STOMP all over your quivery self with my equally formidable DEMO feet.

Speaking of my wardrobe, I completed that whole gridwide Twisted Hunt today in one marathon swoop, and take it from me, the prizes in that hunt are unbelievably awesome. I would not lead you astray.

I joined the Twisted Hunt Group for the as-advertised help if I needed hints, but they seemed a little tight in there. I eventually tired of asking for help to the awkward sound of crickets chirping on a blank chat screen, so I followed the advice of my friend PETER STINDBERG (someone's gonna take this fall with me) and bought a RAWKIN' treasure hunt HUD for 99L at Clever Things.

Later I opened my big fat mouth in the Twisted Hunt Group chat and told someone that I'd come help them find one of the 103 prizes with my RAWKIN' HUD and, YES, I got bitch-slapped by about 95 people at once.

One chick even called me the P-word!!!! And no, not "penis." Or "perplexing." Or even the better-suited "perky"! Use your filthy imaginations and you'll fill in the blank in no time.

Sigh

Go ahead . . . I'll let you all screech, "CHEATER!!!!!!" one more time:

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

OK.

I've said it once and I'll say it again. When you have ONE HUNDRED AND THREE items in a hunt that expands ACROSS THE GRID, and I cannot move from one place to the next without the chronological LANDMARKS in each prize, then HELL YES, if I get stuck in a 600,000-SQUARE-FOOT GOREAN FURNITURE STORE trying to find a BOX the size of a FLEA on my 8-INCH LAPTOP SCREEN, I am gonna give it a healthy 10-minute-maximum try and then I'm going to either a) ask for help or now, thank God, b) crank up my brand new treasure hunt HUD, find your very generous gift (thank you) and MOVE THE HELL ON.

(And would you like another side of BOLD ALL CAPS with that cheeseburger?)

Why do I sound so indignant? Because shortly after I slipped up, mentioned my HUD in the group and got body-slammed by a bunch of holier-than-me hunters, I TPed into one location where the store owner happened to be hanging out.

She looked at me and said, "Oh, hi Emerald! I've heard about you! . . . 

(LIKE I'M A SUPER-VILLAIN!)

. . . you are banned from this store."

You really have not lived until you've heard that rubber-band boingy sound that SL makes when you get booted off someone's property.

Lady, ARE YOU FRIGGIN' KIDDING ME??? 

Nice try, but I grabbed your hunt prize as I was sailing out of your store.

And your boyfriend.

It's a SCAVENGER HUNT, for Pete's sake. We're not CURING CANCER HERE, kids. And I am speaking to you AS a cervical cancer survivor -- a hard-earned hat that I rarely don unless it's to tell someone, "In the grand scheme of things, this is REALLY no big deal."

And for the record, I found Items 1-65 on my own. And even after that, I'd say it was a 50/50 ratio between the HUD and my awesome eagle eyes.

And even if I did have to cheat to find your impossibly concealed prize, I still cherished it and your work. It's not like I took it home in a separate "I cheated!" folder and . . . violated it or something.

And unlike a blogger who shall remain unnamed, I wasn't the one who publicized all the prize location SLurls this morning. But you know what, what if I had? You poured your heart and soul into your product, not where you hid it. Why do you care if people know where they are? 

The people who love the thrill of the hunt won't cheat anyway and instead will meticulously seek your gift with the hallowed reverence it deserves. 

The dash-and-grabs are always going to cheat if they can. They really don't care about you or your store. They just want free stuff, free stuff, free stuff! (I can hear them out there chanting right now.) 

It's just a fact that every owner has to accept when she or he decides to give out a hunt prize. But do we have to overanalyze it to death? (More than I just did?) Do we have to criminalize the resourceful ones?

Believe it or not, I am a traditional hunter, a tracker, a gunslinger, if you will. I will hunt your goods down with respect and gratitude, and then pause and pay due homage to that latex catsuit before I pour my sweaty body into it with love.

Unless I'm moving to Memphis the next day.

In that case, I'm gonna sprint through your sims like Flo-Jo, with all the gadgets, cheat sheets and help that I can cram in my fanny pack.

Either deal with the fact that there are different types of hunters out there and, yes, some will use a little help, or I guess you can systematically eject and ban whoever you want. Just know that when I finally get my $12 million RL inheritance, I will not be transforming any of it into lindens to spend in your store.

Booiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnggg!

And as long as I'm making all kinds of people mad this week, I want to end on this one note:

LEMANIA INDIGO!  

GIRL, YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU, BUT YOU HAVE GOTZ TO CHILL FOR A LITTLE WHILE! 

PLEASE! No more!

No more hunts with hundreds of arrows encircling a smaller hunt for little hats and then the mini hunts in each store on your sim and then the daily retiring dollarbies, the onslaught of new gowns to mark every major occurrence, the very intimate relationship I have with your Subscribo and the many many messages it sends me a day. And now . . . ANOTHER HYUUUUUGE FANTASY HUNT on your sim! I'm sorry, but I just can't make this one. I still have to unpack 64 of my 139 Lemania Indigo Arrows from last month's hunt. Please. I can't . . . catch . . . a . . . breath. It's got to stop.

(Hey, I got that dress up there in her Cupid's Arrow Hunt last month and it's actually really artsy and cool. Shout out!)

Let us just pause for a week or two, OK?

OK.

(The woman is a marketing machine.)

That funny Ghostbusterish cusha-kinsi posing prop is free at Naho's Funny Shop.

Hey speaking of fun, I'd like say "Howdy!" to two readers who popped up out of the blue today to introduce themselves and were so nice to me, they made me cry (in a good way). I'm always shocked when people out there make it through these posts alive, and then when they tell me that they enjoy them, well, I start blubbering like Sally Fields at The Oscars.

So thank you, Ilyana and Selkie. I had fun with you today and you are too kind.

**maxxes out arm-length sliders and gives EVERYONE a huge, teary goodbye hug**

I love you, my beautiful shiny friends, and I'll miss you terribly. Please keep me in your prayers, if that's how you roll. 

The road ahead is really long in more ways than one.

I'm going to be so scared. :(