Monday, August 31, 2009

Optimizing your Emerald experience


Yeah, um, terraforming is not my forte. But hey - maybe I wanted that spiky sand pyramid there!

And that title? Kidding. Sort of.

Before I elaborate on the title of my post, here's a spot (oh lerdy, I just said "spot"! Can you tell I'm dating a British guy in RL?) of eyebrow-raising for you. Check the latest (as of now) comment on THIS PREVIOUS POST and BE WARY of that store (here's the blog for it). I've been warning people about what a shady, sloppy rip-off that place is for a while. *chucks the prim babby in trash*

Regarding that ripped-shoe comment over on that post (yeah sorry, you're gonna have to go over there and read it if you really care), I've never looked at the shoes. I've just gone to buy a cheap-thrill prim babby for blog material and try on scary-looking skins for the hell of it. Here's me in the Julia Roberts skin (check out "Braid Pit" in the background):



And here's a friend of mine in the "Holly Berry" skin, looking more like LaToya Jackson:


Her name is Ali. Miss Jackson if you're nasty.

OK anyway, back to the headline of THIS post.

I recently installed a Google Analytics code on this blog. It's pretty intriguing to see basic information on the demographics that are reading this blog, how they're getting to it, and sometimes why. I think there's a way to see actual IP addresses, but I don't roll like that. I mainly like to see where people are coming from and how they found this blog.

For instance, last week this blog got close to 2,500 unique hits, which is a huge deal for little ol' me. My traffic trends over the past few weeks show that about 40 percent of my hits come directly from subscriptions, Google Readers or bookmarks (THANK YOU!). About 40 percent of my hits come from Alicia Chenaux's blogroll (girl, you gots some serious POWER over there).

And, um, about 20 percent of the hits come from search engines, primarily people searching for information on the MOTHER-PLUCKING EMERALD VIEWER or occasional other random things. (Note to self: Never use song lyrics in blog titles again.)

To make it worse, there are some discouraging days when the Emerald Viewer visitor stats are way higher than the others.

So, um, if you're here looking for information on the Emerald Viewer, unfortunately you're not going to find it. I've heard it's really cool though!

The analytics that crack me up the most are the search terms that lead people to my blog.

Here are a few of them:

"boobs like accordions"
"Russian booty"
"emerald wynn stiletto moody" (oops)
"second life emerald penis" (laughter)
"emerald second life pokemon"
"angelic booty" (why thank you!)
"bacon in a can" (ew?)
"bloodlines where do you hunt in second life" (May I suggest Lemania Indigo's sim?)
"do you really think I give a damn now that I can do whatever I want" (yes, actually, if you need a Search engine to validate that statement)
"hate emerald wynn" (*sniff*)
"catfighting fairies" (LMAO! *writes that down as a future blog topic*)
"emeralds blogspot under pressure" (damn, is it???)
"gothic birthday cards" (um . . . "Happy Dark and Gloomy Birthday"?)
"lemania indigo bitch" (YEAH!)
"picture of person who don't give a damn" (yeah, I guess that could be me sometimes)
"russian wedding booty" (WHAT the hell is going on with people chasing Russian booty??)
"rub my fanny" (maybe . . . what does it look like?)
"social isolation + emeralds eyes" (OUCH! For the record, I'm currently having REAL SEX on a semi-regular basis so SHUT UP!)
. . . oops, little outburst there. Sorry.

And actually, speaking of my lack of social isolation, I have to go to work now. I really meant to write this post about my delight in a new-to-me store called Gbberish Boutique. That butterfly table (300L) way up at the top is a cute find there, as is this Paris skirt in Jewel, on sale on the top floor for 100L:

(Chicken coop available for rent for your next fashion shoot, BTW)

Check the cute bow in back:


I like pairing jewel tones with black so I'm wearing the very cool cowl-neck sleeveless sweater from SySy's new Tweedy set with it. And although I swore I'd never pay 350L for bangles, those are the Patra bracelets in silver from Zaara. Never say never.

And see. My League skin makes my hands look like man claws. :(

I have other Gbberish photos, but they're gonna have to wait.

Hey, here's what your . . . prim boobs??? . . . look like to me when you're trying to rez:


That's hot.

Gotta go. Thanks for stopping by.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Well Hello, Kitty!!


I heard a rumor that after the XStreet "brand cleansing" is finished, SL is going to start cracking down on inworld products that violate its Branding Guidelines.

And according to this rumor, when it happens, all my Hello Kitty stuff will simply vanish from my inventory.

So I got nervous and put all my SL Hello Kitty stuff in one inventory folder called "OOOH! You Gots Hello Kitty!"

When the Hello Kitty Rapture occurs, I want to be able to just look in one folder and see that everything's gone, not frantically hunt through my 90K inventory for my Hello Kitty toaster, earrings, hoodie, plushie, private jet and hot air balloon. And that house up there.


Look at the inside:


Really, could we ask for anything more?

I know you're jealous, so I'm gonna ease your pain and let you know that this house is FREE FREE FREE at Benski's Builds! And while you're there, please slap the Midnight Mania board for that beach house on stilts. I want it. And so do you.

If I really wanted to live in this Hello Kitty palace, I'd have to kill a bunch of chickens and get rid of my really elegant (rickety-ass) chicken coop. Even if I don't, I'm gonna have to at least kill my chicken Trixie anyway. I need room for a rare chicken that I won in a raffle. Sorry Trixie, being ordinary just doesn't cut it these days. It's a tough world out there.

I'll wait until she's asleep. :(

Um, besides that, I'm trying to finish the Black Keys Hunt and the Proposer Hunt, but I feel sort of hopeless, like I just don't have time . . .

. . . because I got a new (RL) job!

I'm a freelance writer for our newspaper's business section now and DAMN they dumped a bunch of assignments on me already — but that's OK because they pay $150 a story, so four stories a week = MasterCard payment. Five stories a week = MasterCard payment + shoes + decent wine + a pizza.

Still looking for a full-time job though. Maybe the Lindens will swing by here and see that I'm both informative AND loved and, as such, would make a FABULOUS Community Communications Manager! (Heck yes, I applied, and I already got a very pleasant "Thanks! Maybe we'll call you!" form e-mail in response.)

That aside, I lost another SL friend today — my friend Holden canceled his Second Life account. That's two friends in one week. *sniff* (Seriously, I really did get all sniffly.)

I'll miss you, Holden. Thank you for the wind turbine. :*(


Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Emerald needs a hug. Or a slap. Or both.


I'm in a yucky mood. It's one of those moods that teeters between wanting to burst into gut-wrenching tears or wanting to walk outside and scream at the top of my lungs until I can't scream anymore.

My first draft of this blog got into all the gory details of my yucky mood, but then I read back over it and thought, "Who cares?" Needless to say it involves a man — a real flesh-and-blood man, not an AV. We've only been dating for a little while, but I'm pretty smitten. Unfortunately, I'm getting the vibe that we're not operating on the same level of smit. And yeah, I know that's not a word. But I like it.

Then to top it all off, last week, my RL contract work got canceled due to my client's financial woes, so I had to wave goodbye to $1,000 that I SO DESPERATELY needed.

But HEY I didn't come here for (too much) RL whining. Or condolences and/or advice, please. I couldn't bear it right now.

So anyway, I haven't been spending a lot of time in SL lately because I've been concentrating on RL survival and building yet another fortress around my cowering heart. I log on once or twice a day to check my chickens and plod through a few stops in hunts that I doubt I'll finish in time, but that's about it.

I hope to snap out of it soon. I have a modeling job at SySy's that I love and I don't want to blow it. Not to mention friends that I care about. Actually I should have listed the "friends" thing first.

But when I am in world, here are some things that currently are irritating the hell out of me (hell yeah, we're in the Negative Zone today, baby. And you love it.):

1. Jezbell Nitely's "prim babbys"

Look, I'm really not as heartless as the Cult of Lemania makes me out to be. If Jezbell were selling her wares for say 100L each, I'd slap her on the back and say, "GO GIRL!!!" and — to quote "Project Runway" (new season - JOY!) — "I hope you continue to evolve as a designer."

But, um . . .


Yes, I bought one. They sell for $2300L each and hell no, I didn't pay that. I hit her sale at her store Indulge a couple of weeks ago, when some of her prim babbys (as she calls them) were marked down to $300L. Woot!!! (For all I know, they still might be, I haven't gone back and checked.)

And if you prefer a babby with a luscious mane of thick, rich hair, she has those too:


I have friends who have gone through the SL childbirth experience, and by no means am I trying to mock or belittle that decision by getting my own prim babby.

I'm just bored.

I spend a lot of my time in SL in silence, meaning I mute all the sounds and listen to my own music. Turning off the master audio control also protects me from those "please please stop that before I kill you" gestures. So I didn't realize that the prim babby screams at the top of its lungs, until my friend Heidi clued me into this lovely detail. And WOW, the child has a set of pipes on her. If I took her out in public, I'd probably get banned from any store or sim in five minutes tops.

She also complains all damn day.

[10:35] Jemima: Cries loudly, I want my daddy!
[10:38] Jemima: Cries loudly, I want my daddy!
[10:40] Jemima: Cries loudly, I want my daddy!

You don't really have a daddy, Jemima. His name is Prad. But he never comes around here. So deal with it.

[10:43] Jemima: Cries loudly, I want my daddy!

Emerald throws Jemima like a football into her neighbor's yard.

[10:45] Emerald Wynn: Bye bye, Jemima! Have a nice life! Don't talk to strangers or listen to Miley Cyrus.

2. This hemline:


If you recognize the dress, don't get me wrong. I love this store. I'm just sick of seeing this hemline. And I'm entitled to my fashion preferences.

3. Chickens who haven't had legs for a week:


4. Chickens who haven't had legs OR a head for a week:


5. Chickens who get all up in my face and look like Godzilla:


Dude, step off me or I'm not hanging out in your fancy chicken coop with you anymore.

6. Chicks (as in girls) with that annoying booty-popping, grinding AO who shake their blangin' stuff in my face while I'm trying to shop:


Yeah, she didn't rez all the way. I also couldn't get a decent booty-poppin' shot. That's the story of my life.

And honey, those little strappy shoes look bizarre with those monster calves. (Hey, sometimes I roll with the What the Fug? girls. I'm allowed to crack my own whip occasionally.)

OK, if you're feeling weighed down by my grumpy energy, I'll throw in a "COOL AV, MAN!" shot:


It sort of blends in with the carpet, but I like this dragon. And thanks to my awesome photography skills, it also looks like it has legs under its chin. Oops.

And thanks to my Caliah Windlight settings, it looks a little "Las Vegas Strip at 3 a.m." HELP, MY EYYYYYYYES!! (Yes, I have Local Lights turned off.)

Or maybe it's supposed to look like that. Either way:


And now I need to curl up in yet another fetal position and feel a little sorry for myself for five minutes. This past week has really sucked, but here's to a new tomorrow:


Thursday, August 20, 2009

Fetal position


I'm probably not the only one who knows one of those "we accidentally have seven daughters" couples.

Perhaps you know the type: Their first child is a beautiful baby girl, but they want more kids, particularly a boy to balance out the siblings and carry on the family name. So they keep trying for a boy. But they keep having girls.

Until finally the end result is, as an example, my RL friends the Snudels (and hell yeah I made up that name to protect their identity), whom I usually find standing helpless and haggard-looking in their kitchen while their six very young girls beat each other with naked Barbies and run screaming all over the house.

Mrs. Snudel is now wearing a chastity belt, BTW.

Well, that's what's happening with me and my mother-plucking chickens. I need males. Black males, to be precise. I want some hip, street-smart, bad-ass black chickens in my brood, just to give some edge to my egg production.

Recently I went out and bought five perfect black eggs. I know this sounds cold, but I figured I'd get at least one black male and one black female out of that bunch and then unfortunately I'd have to send the rest up to that great chicken coop in the sky.

They all hatched. They were all girls. That pic up there is me, curled up in their pen, sobbing.

I boxed up all but two of them.

I have more to say about the whole chicken thing, but first let me break up this text with a "hottie digression":


I spotted this guy at Neon Frog. And if you don't know Neon Frog, they make some great giant sculpty animals that will either impress or royally tick off your neighbors. So far I have their dinosaur, a huge tree frog and a big damn Russian Don Horse in my menagerie, thanks to the Midnight Mania board there. Please join me in checking that board obsessively every day for new animals and slapping the hell out of it when you see one.

Anyway, so that sexy merman -- he too was slapping the MM board there. So not only is he exotically hot, he also shares my affection for big freaky-looking fake animals. I wanted to grab him, drag him to the ocean and roll around in a fit of passionate pixelated lovemaking among pixelated waves and leaping pixelated dolphins. I wanted to drape him in seaweed and eat him like sushi.

Although that facelight kind of killed it for me a little.

Dude, you don't need a facelight to swim in my seas.

Shoot, I totally lost my train of thought now. . . . .

. . . . oh yeah, the chickens.

I'm getting a little tired of the chickens. The novelty has sort of worn off. Today I sent a few chickens to their maker, and it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. They were good chickens. I gave them a good life and they served me well in return. There was no blood, loud squawks of pain, or violence. Just a simple click on "Edit," then a "Delete" click, and finally a fast "Empty Trash" click and it was done. Quick and painless.

I do have some rare eggs now, as well as some really cool colored ones -- like pink-and-green for the preppie in you -- and I at least want to try to sell them before I kill the whole chicken project altogether. Hell, maybe I'll at least get $2,000L back from the something like $10,000L that I've probably spent on this entire chicken project. *grumpy face*

So I have this really fantastic vision for a chicken stand:

I wanna name it "Bok to the Future," and I want it to be SO MUCH MORE than a chicken stand.

I want to set up a couple of low-prim bars, name all my eggs after cocktails and set them out on the bars like hip drinks. In fact, I'll put the egg displays in cool martini glasses -- gifts with purchase!

I also wanna put down a dance floor in front of my egg bars and hang a disco ball and some flashing lights over it, also maybe hire some showgirls in chicken feathers to pole dance around the perimeter. (OK, "hire" is kind of a stretch and actually translates to "beg my friends to shake some tail feathers.")

Unfortunately every time I approach a chicken farm or market owner with lindens in hand and this oh-so-cool idea, they usually respond with, "Get the hell off my property, you insane, lunatic weirdo."

HEY! That's "insane, lunatic VISIONARY" to you, Farmer Ted!

EXCUUUUUSE ME for trying to elevate the whole chicken-buying process to a higher, more experiential level. Sheeeesh -- there are something like 900 chicken stalls out there right now. I've GOTTA do something to set myself apart, for crying out loud.

Since I think I'm now banned from about 34 farmers' markets, I thought about setting my parcel to Public Access and "Show in Search" and renaming it "Emerald's Non-Stop Poultry Party: Get Your Groove 'Bok' Here!"

I could stream The Chicken Dance music. And Disco Duck, even though it would be a little bit of a stretch. And "On the Wings of Love" as the slow dance. And of course "Free Bird," even though they wouldn't be. And maybe I'll put out a tip jar that says, "Like my blog? Buy me a chicken dinner!"

Hey, maybe I don't spin tunes like a DJ, but sometimes I do spin words that make you boogie down!

Then I thought about what my landlady's face would look like if I did all that and I got kind of scared.

Oh well.

Holler if you know any cool people who would embrace my Chicken Disco concept. I really wanna do this.

I'll close this ridiculous post with this picture:


I've been running around like this for a couple of days. My spectacular friend Serenity Semple alerted me to this current group gift from *M*. I don't speak a word of Japanese (which is the language of the group charter/notices), but this cat head delighted me. The eyes blink. There's a male version too. If you want one, you can find the group listed in my profile for a while. It's free to join.

Also pictured: AM Tulip Top in Champagne (175L) from Miel; Patra Silver Wire Bracelets (350L) by Zaara; and Garage Jeans in Turquoise (245L) and Misty in Medium skin by League. I've discovered the one thing I don't like about the League skins -- they make my hands look kind of manly. *sad face*

P.S. Can anyone draw either a chicken in a white John Travolta "Saturday Night Fever" disco suit or a chicken wearing an astronaut helmet?

Monday, August 17, 2009

The Girl Who Wept Colors

Pictured: Fluke in ColorFunk - Retro (Tan) by SINdecade

(Featuring the new Fluke line of skins from SINdecade.)

Once upon a time, there lived a girl who needed neither food nor water to sustain her.

The celebratory expanse of the rosy dawn was her breakfast, the petals of blooming flowers were her lunch, and in the early evenings — as the Sun descended into the loving embrace of its brilliant reflective friend The Sea — the glorious sunsets served her sumptuous feasts of colors.

All the hues of the rainbow nourished her body and illuminated her soul with a spectrum of joy. As a result, her emotions were so powerful that she wept at the sheer beauty of the world around her.

And when she cried, colors ran down her cheeks and surrounded her in radiant pools.

Pictured: Fluke in ColorFunk - ManyMe (Tan)

It wasn't long before word of the girl quickly spread throughout the land. Because the girl's tears were born of colors and came straight from her heart — pure in nature and rich with feeling — they produced magical, vibrant shades, the likes of which no one had ever seen.

People traveled from far and wide to see the mysterious girl who wept colors. Unfortunately, they didn't seek her to pay homage to the beauty she created. They didn't ask her to share her view of the world and what inspired her to shed such beautiful tears.

Instead, they wanted her colors for their own. Artists envisioned glorious fame and fortune from the paintings they would create with her tears. Simple folk chased her through the streets, convinced that they too could be beautiful if only they could just sip a cup of those marvelous tears. Weavers and seamstresses followed the girl relentlessly with the hopes of soaking their fabrics in the multihued puddles she left in her wake. Oprah Winfrey called her several times a day. Martha Stewart often pounded on her door with a giant man-paw, bellowing about "good things."

The girl tried to hide. She took shelter in dark alleys where there were no colors to be found and crouched there until her weeping subsided and she looked like a normal girl again.

Pictured: Fluke in Smoky - Berry (Tan)

But inevitably something would move her, as the girl could find beauty even in the intricate cracks of a well-trod pavement, and she'd dash through the streets, her teardrops splattering the walls with graffiti that would later become a major tourist attraction.

Meanwhile, people continued to chase and clutch at her. Ignorant and gray, they shouted cruel things and threw dirty socks at her in attempts to get her to cry.

Eventually, the girl's tears of joy turned to tears of sorrow. One night, she put on her best dress, slipped out the back door, borrowed a boat from a nearby witch and embarked on a journey across The Sea of New Beginnings, crying all the while. The waters turned red with her copious angry tears:

Pictured: Fluke in ColorFunk - Rosebay (Tan)

OOPS! She forgot to turn on her Windlight settings!

I said, "The waters turned red with her copious angry tears."


Much better. Thanks.

Her travels were not without danger. She crashed into several houses along the way. (Sorry Ali, Marnix and Sehra.) But when she got to the other side of The Sea of New Beginnings, there was a man in shining white armor waiting for her.

. . . OK, actually it was a man in a white lab coat.

"I can give you a potion to kill your emotion," he said.

"I don't trust men who talk like Dr. Seuss," she replied.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, but thank you for sharing that with me," he said. "What if I could fix it so you don't cry anymore? People would leave you alone. You could live a normal, functioning life."

It sounded like heaven to her. He gave her a bottle. She removed a green pill and washed it down with her last swig of a fading sunset.

She moved to The Land of No Feelings, and shortly after, her tears stopped. But the colors -- the colors that had filled her up and sustained her and made the world so beautiful -- they faded too. She lost her appetite for them. Instead, she started eating brown gravy. Lots and lots of brown gravy, poured all over everything, often late at night.

Soon she realized that yes, the magic pills had taken away her tears, but they also drained her world of color. Without it, she had no gift. She became a blank, joyless puppet, held in captivity by her apathy.

Pictured: Fluke in ColorFunk - Regret (Tan)

With her last ounce of will, she chucked the remaining pills into the ocean. She called a gang of thug chickens that she had met in a back alley one night, and they came and busted her out of her cell.

She left The Land of No Feelings and called the head honchos at Crayola crayons. During her time behind the gray bars of apathy, she had learned the skills of a savvy businesswoman, and so she negotiated a fat salary, a house on the beach, some swank digs for her thug chicken bodyguards, a dinosaur and a giant rabbit in exchange for her services.

Today, the girl is once again sipping sunrises for breakfast, munching on vibrant flowers for lunch and dining on delectable sunsets. Except now she only weeps colors on weekdays, from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., under the watchful eyes of Crayola executives. And occasionally on holidays and special occasions.

With her talents now comfortably harnessed and put to good use, she spends the rest of her time just being a normal girl:

Pictured: Fluke in Glam - Downtown (Tan)

And that, boys and girls, is how your crayons are made.

. . . . . . . . HA HA HA HA!

Um, sorry. I kind of lost steam in the middle of that story. I think the moral is to take control of your life, put your talents to good use and find a happy medium between your extremes. And chickens can kick some serious ass. And you should feel a little guilty the next time you use a crayon. It's made of tears, after all.

I can't write these days. I blame the Prozac.

That aside, I really wanted to find a fun way to showcase Trin Trevellion's new line of SINdecade skins. I've loved Trin's work ever since I was a little wide-eyed noob, so I was so flattered to receive a review pack of Fluke from her.

Forget the fact that I'm a fan. Regardless of my affection for any designer, I'm always gonna give you the straight skinny here. So I promise I'm not blowing smoke up your Neko tail when I say that I truly believe Fluke is one of Trin's most versatile skins to date.

It comes in Snow, Pale and Tan, with makeups in Casual, Smoky, Paint-Box (or Glam with the Tan skins) and Color Funk ranges. You can buy a skin separately for $1000L; a Variation set, which includes a skin in each makeup range, for $2200L; or a fat pack for $3400L.

If that confused you, please hop over to her blog post HERE and check out the much more comprehensive charts, which also show you all the makeups in all their glory. And if I were you, I'd run over to her store and pick up a demo — you might just find that cute striped lingerie in her blog pictures as a free gift in the demo folder.

As always with Trin's stuff, you get a lot of bang for your lindens: Each purchase also includes a freckles version, eyes to match the skin's color palette, prim lashes and the optimal female Fluke shape.

You might also want to check out her Play! Female AO. Check out the photo and description HERE. I use it, and not a week goes by without at least three people asking me where I got it. It has an animated stand called "Sly" which is a little bit bitchy, a little bit seductive and a whole lotta awesome.

Thanks for humoring me. I'm gonna go read some Stephen King now.

Monday, August 10, 2009

So damn blog-worthy, I can hardly stand it!


My life (both of them!) is joy these days. I'm not sure why, but maybe it's because I'm due for some joy. And nope, I'm not in love, I haven't inherited a huge sum of money and I haven't recently developed an impressive set of RL knockers. I'm just happy. And for the first time in a long time, I feel like everything is going to be OK. (As long as I don't look at my credit card balance.)

Ironically, Emerald's REAL eyes have played a huge role in my upswing. I went to the eye doctor last week and learned that my contact prescription was WAAAAAY off. The doctor gave me some new ones. I put them in and BAM! suddenly the world was crisp and fresh and clear! ZOOHHHHHH MY G, I never realized JUST HOW BLIND I've been during the past year!

My new and improved eyesight was like getting a giant syringe of Vitamin B shoved into my spinal cord. (Not sure if that's where Vitamin B should go, but I like the visual.) The day after I got my new eyes, I got up off my not-so-Playboy bunny tail and went out and got a job, made a couple of new friends at a shindig, cleaned the hell out of this monster of a house and filled up my social calendar. Woot!

It's amazing what a difference the ability to SEE makes!

. . . well, that and a new antidepressant I've started taking.


Sorry. Mainly I write this blog just to entertain myself. But the fact that a few other people like it too is delightful.

The eye transformation made me realize that I'd probably be a helluva lot more social in Second Life if I upgraded my video card and installed more memory in this gasping-for-breath laptop. Because I'm still mainly seeing SL like this:


I thought my gray-haired friend Heidi and I were cat-fighting over a giant penis until she told me it was a lollypop. Oops.

Shoot, you can have that candy then, Heidi.

OK, so anyway.

My yard is starting to look pretty trailer-park fabulous, if I do say so myself. I'm pretty sure my neighbors probably hate me by now. I'm white-trashing up our whole island with the dinosaur and the randomly placed furniture in the yard and the eyesore of a chicken coop. I just need some pink flamingos, an abandoned toilet and an old beater pickup truck with no wheels and I'm set, baby!


But I didn't write this post to talk about my yard. I found a blog-worthy place/new project this morning and I wanna share that joy with you because I am a giving person like that.

I swing by Soulless Productions frequently to slap the Midnight Mania board, which has cool prizes like an eerie back-alley photo backdrop (unfortunately not used in this post). But that place is so much more than a hot destination for a Midnight Mania-board junkie. It's like a three-dimensional ode to horror movies. In the Halloween House, you'll find creepy horror movie props and sets, many of your favorite monsters and villains, classic scream flick posters, an Unlucky Dip . . . and more!

I purposefully did not take a picture because I want you to go see it yourself. (Um, yeah that's it.)

But wait! That place is so much more than just a cool horror-themed store!

Before I get into why, let me break up the text with some free stuff that's currently there. The MM board isn't out right now, but the Fall Fun Hunt (that site includes a list of participating vendors) and The SL Hybrid Hunt prizes are.

The Fall Fun Hunt prize is this great pumpkin patch. It's 83 prims and stretches far beyond the photo below. I didn't have the prim space on my own land, so I dashed over to a neighbor's place, rezzed it, shot this pic and ran like hell. That's called "Rez and Dash" or "Drive-By Rezzing." I love pranks.


I can't tell you where the Fall Fun leaf is because that would be cheating, but I CAN tell you that whenever I find a leaf in MY house, I throw it in the toilet. In the upstairs bathroom.

I'm gonna 'fess up and admit that the The Self-Proclaimed Huntress doesn't know what The Hybrid Hunt is. You're looking for green paws I guess. The link up there takes you to a blog with prize pics and a list of participating stores.

Soulless Productions' Hybrid Hunt prize is a set of male and female laundry basket beds. I'm not sure why the different genders need different versions of laundry baskets to sleep in. My cats sure as hell don't think they do. They'll pile into one regardless of whether it's filled with pink lingerie or boxers and sweat-stained T-shirts.


There's also a sitting pose in it:


Yeah, I'm a rebel. I roll with my Windlight sky settings on Sailor's Delight and the water set to Second Plague. Rock.

I can't tell you where the Hybrid Hunt prize is at Soulless Productions because that would be cheating. I CAN tell you that when I find a random green paw in MY house, I usually stick it on the side of the refrigerator. In the kitchen.

So finally — now that most of you are asleep or have wandered way the hell away from your computers — I want to get to why Soulless Productions is pure joy. You MUST read the notecard if you pick up one of these prizes. But just in case pumpkin patches and giant laundry baskets don't do it for you, here's what it says:
"The first and only company in SL producing remakes of classic horror films. So far we've done a remake of John Carpenter's Halloween and Psycho. We are currently working on our remake of Christine. Plus many more on the way. If you're interested in being a SL film star and would like to join our growing crew, send either myself (Soulkeeper Dreadlow) or my wife Evil Stacy your information in a note card. We specialize in horror films so if you're looking to do Gone With The Wind, you're sh*t out of

"You can watch our first 2 completed films, Halloween and Psycho. Halloween was our first film and we have grown and gotten much better with Psycho. We hope to continue to improve and bring you high quality films in the future. But for now let me shut up and let you enjoy the movies."
Click HERE to watch Psycho. Click HERE to watch Halloween. Or there's also a movie theater-style viewing room in the store -- take your friends. Who's up for a movie night? :D

I watched Psycho. Well some of it. Enough to tell you that there's a sex scene at 3:33 and a death at 5:15. I was tickled, as my grandmother would put it. It made me GIDDY WITH LOVE for all you SL people. Just the fact that people would remake Psycho in Second Life — even if it's a little choppy — well damn, that just makes me want to hug the whole grid and skip around in a circle for a while. People are so awesome. They really are.

I love you, man.

And I see a new future in my SL: Horror movie starlet! I tried to get my friend Heidi to request an audition with me and she quickly logged off.

I have one thing to say to you, Heidi: "BOK BOK BOK!"

Speaking of chickens:


Chicken Meara is spreading her upside-down virus. :\

I'll sign off with a FREE(ISH) SKIN ALERT!

I'm not blogging about the awesome new Misty in Pale skins by League. I'll leave that to people who take better pictures. As much as I love the Misty skins, there are times in SL when I look at my AV and get kind of a drag queen complex. I don't know why. Maybe because I prefer only miniscule amounts of face paint in real life. I think less makeup makes me look younger.

So maybe that's why I loved the fresh-faced youthful glow of this $1L Beata in Clear skin at a new-to-me skin and shape store called Xaida. The selection is small, but the artistry is beautiful. (Please God, don't let them be ripped.)


Perfect for those days when you just want to look serene and clean.

Go grab it like you want it!

Love, hugs and chemically-induced joy,

Saturday, August 8, 2009

Be careful what you wish for when there's magic in your midst


I love the combination of savory and sweet, of crunch and smush — enhanced by a dash of fluttering wing and the caress of hair — whenever I pop a little fairy in my mouth. As an added bonus, the musical embrace of a tiny scream enhances the full-bodied dining experience.

If only those damn fairies didn't make me so gassy, I'd eat them all the time.

. . . . I'm actually not a big fan of running around Second Life with things sticking out of my mouth, but Evangeline Miles of Evie's Closet forced me to make an exception to that rule with her laugh-evoking nom-nom Oops! fairy.

For a limited time, she's put one in each color of her latest release, the Whimsy Faery Outfit (375L). I believe they're also sold (now or in the near future) separately for 50L, according to Evie's blog.


Yep, obviously I bought the green version. It was a tough call between that one and the blue one though.

It's happy time for me whenever there's newness over at that store.

I've actually had fairies and magic and wishes and such on the brain lately. Why? Because I finally got a (RL) job! WOOT! I start Monday. It's only part-time but the pay is surprisingly awesome and I'll have a desk and all those little office things that I once took for granted — like a phone extension and a stapler and a drawer full of new pens.

It's not exactly a dream job though. In fact, it's a little embarrassing. It's one of those jobs that when you tell someone what you do, that person says, "How nice! Oh, no need to get into too many details! It sounds great though!" and runs away.

Also, when my new boss discovered I was single, she said, "Oh, we have a single guy on the third floor. You should meet him." It's a huge building. But apparently there's A single guy on the third floor. And now the two of us are like a rare pair of endangered albino giraffes. ("Hey, let's see if we can get them to mate!")

But before I tell you what the job is, I need to tell you about my magic typewriter.

But before we get to that, let's break up this text with a picture of me and my dinosaur:


Rock. (You want one? Get it from the Midnight Mania board at Neon Frog. If you're reading this before midnight SLT on Saturday, you still have time — I think the board's close to 500 hits now and it needs 700 people to slap it for the prize to be delivered.)

OK. I know you're not going to believe this story. Even I find it hard to believe. But it happened. I swear.

I went to college in California back in the early '90s before the Internet was widely used. Yep, I'm that old. We used word processors and electric typewriters (not to mention the library!) to write our term papers. Looking back now, I can't IMAGINE doing that again. Wow.

So once I got to college and got over being a disoriented freshman, I realized something crucial was missing in my life and I ordered a state-of-the-art electric typewriter/word processor. My roommate and I were so damn excited the day it arrived at our dorm room. No more slaving away on a borrowed one at the library or bumming one off someone else in our suite — woo hoo! We quickly put it to good and frequent use.

And then we discovered it was magic.

We stumbled upon this revelation by accident, as people who experience the truly magical usually do. I had just received a letter — yes, a LETTER! — from a high school friend who was majoring in journalism at Northwestern University. Her letter was filled with parties and excitement and boys and fun, and therefore I sort of wanted to slap her. My roommate and I, initially strangers, had bonded, thank God, but neither of us had a car, our school was on top of a mountain in Malibu, our campus was dry (meaning no alcohol allowed) and there was even a dorm curfew, so our weekends were turning out to be a lot of ordering pizza, listening to tapes (cassettes!) and watching "Beverly Hills 90210" (the original series!).

So when the magic started, I was writing a letter back to my friend and my roommate was helping me, um, exaggerate the hell out of it. Together we crafted a completely fabricated college existence that was so damn thrilling we could barely read it. Parties on the beach, celebrity encounters and hot dates were just the tip of our literary iceberg. When we finished, we printed it out, put it on my desk and walked out of our dorm on a quest for a mushroom pizza.

That's when we ran into someone who invited us to a ritzy party that a young prince (oh yes, I said "young prince") was throwing at his nearby beach house. Not only did we get invited, we were offered a ride, and when we got there we got drunk with Gary Coleman ("Different Strokes!") and we both met hottie Malibu boys.

It wasn't until the next day when the hangovers subsided that we realized that everything we had written in my total crock of a letter had happened!

We joked about it being a magic typewriter. We tested it by each typing a new sentence on a piece of paper. "Jim will ask me to go a movie tonight." "I will find 20 bucks on campus." (Laugh, gosh we aimed kind of low huh?)

Later that day I had a date to a movie and my roommate was 20 dollars richer.

You shake your head in disbelief, but would I lead you astray? No way!

We raised our wish standards a little:

"The cafeteria will serve rigatoni with Italian sausage three days in a row."

"We will see Tom Cruise at the grocery store today."

Check. And check! (It was Malibu after all. Up until that point, the only celebrities we'd seen were a ruddy Dick Van Dyke and the mom from "Home Alone." And Tom Cruise had not yet reached the "living in a spaceship" stage.)

"A tall dark-haired guy will ask me to dance tonight."

"I will ace that Religion 101 test even though I didn't study for it."


"Ms. Ryker will give us an extension on our term paper deadline."

"I will get a bid from Alpha Phi sorority."

(*Emerald pauses for a moment to proudly shout, "Alpha Phi! Alpha Phi! Alpha Phi!" and give you the secret sorority handshake.*)

Note that it never dawned on us to type anything like, "We will wake up tomorrow morning to world peace" or "All cancer will disappear forever."

Sadly, we were selfish little simpletons back then. But damn, that was such an AMAZING and DELIGHTFUL time, and we basked in the warm glow of our granted wishes with unfettered joy and gratitude.

Every day we used the magic typewriter to manifest college bliss . . . until one day it stopped working. It was dead. We tried to revive it. We failed. Finally we accepted the fact that we had used up all of our wishes. It was still under warranty so I sent it back for a replacement. The new one arrived. We tested it.

"My Public Speaking 101 class will be canceled today."


It was just another ordinary electric typewriter, and we returned to our ordinary lives of actually studying for tests and eating cafeteria food we hated.

So now let's fast-forward to the present. But first, a picture of why I hate shopping at Truth on new release days:


Wow, look at that GIANT GRAY BEAST OF A WOMAN next to me! (Kidding. I really have no idea what that thing is.)

OK, so anyway. The other night I went to a mixer for public relations professionals. I started talking with a girl my age (gosh, I guess we're "women," actually) who was standing next to me at the bar. Her company happened to be lacking a PR director or anything close to it. Finally she said, "Hey, if you're up for it, I want you to come work for me while you look for a full-time job."

So I start Monday. It fell in my lap. No grueling job interview or sweaty palms. Just a nice low-key job that's gonna pay about $600 a week. Starting Monday, I'll be . . . wait for it! . . .

. . . running public relations for a company that manufactures . . .

Airplane parts!

WOO HOO! So exciting and glamorous! I'm trying really hard to be upbeat and grateful. I'm trying not to imagine everyone there dressed in a tarmac jumpsuit and baseball cap.

I'm trying not to wonder if on bad days someone yells out, "Folks, we're experiencing a little turbulence! Fasten your seat belts!" . . . or if I'll be the first one to do that.

I'm trying not to think about airplane bathrooms or "Will there be a movie on this flight? Hell no there will not. You're in for a long damn ride, honey."

I've seen the building. It's a nice place. So what if I'll be trying to MAKE HISTORY by encouraging reporters to get interested in airplane parts. Because really, when was the last time you saw anything about airplane parts in the news?

Oh wait, I forgot. We do see airplane-part coverage in the news . . . whenever a plane CRASHES.

I'm trying really hard to be positive. Today my new boss sent me a bunch of materials for my first assignment, an industry article I'm supposed to write on Monday titled, "[Name of company] reaches new altitudes as it soars to success." Yay. *waves a little flag* Let's soar!

And I'm trying really hard not to think about the fact that just a few posts ago, I wrote about Amelia Earhart and ran a photo of Emerald IN A PILOT'S UNIFORM!

GAH! I knew I should have bought the cigarette girl costume instead!!!!!

I forgot that when the stars are aligned just right and a fairy happens to be flitting by the window, sometimes we type things and they come true!

So um, that was my long drawn-out story about how a fairy costume at Evie's Closet reminded me of how I once got a bunch of wishes granted — and possibly got some of that leftover magic typing dust on my beat-to-hell laptop last week.

Hey, speaking of words, I know where you can get a wet T-shirt in four, uh, phrases:


I love finding bad typos in stores. Let's see if Photobucket kills that photo for "nudity."

If you're still alive at this point and not a dry husk of a skeleton slumped over your computer, thanks for reading! This'll be the last lengthy post for a while, I promise. Henceforth, they'll be short and sweet.

I'll be too busy writing press releases about wing flaps for much else. :D


Tuesday, August 4, 2009

My mother and Second Life, part deux (or "Somebody Shoot Me Now")


If you haven't yet experienced the exasperation that is My Mother and Second Life, you should probably read this post right here before you go any further.

. . . . OK, ready? Here we go.

It's 8 p.m. My poor mother has just gotten home from a way-too-long day at her office. Despite the protestations of me and my father, she's cooking a giant casserole. Cooking relaxes her, she says, and she doesn't believe in pizza.

I sip a gin and tonic as I watch her dump can after can of seemingly everything in our pantry into a giant pot. Water chestnuts, mushrooms, corn, hamburger, rice, etc., etc., etc. It's 94 degrees F. outside and she's making comfort food, but that's cool because we all need some comforting these days. Never mind that this casserole isn't going to be done until about 10:30 p.m. Apparently cooking it makes her happy, so my father and I endure hunger pangs and resign ourselves to a long night of heartburn. Heartburn is a new experience for me since I've unfortunately and, please God, temporarily moved back in with my parents. Good times.

While my mother cooks, I'm running my mouth about a newspaper story: Four women in Wisconsin not only discovered they shared the same lover, but they also discovered he was married. So one of them lured him to a motel room while the others hid in the closet. The guy, thinking he was in for a night of fun and kink, allowed himself to be tied naked to the bed. Then the other women apparently jumped out of the closet, punched him in the face, and super-glued his penis to his stomach. I can't stop laughing at this. I don't know what's more shocking — the fact that they did it or the fact that it's the lead story in our crappy Memphis newspaper.

The mugshots of three of the women are prominently displayed next to the article. They are not attractive. I make the mistake of pointing out the sad reality that EVEN THESE WOMEN are getting laid and I'm not, when my mother interrupts that TMI with:

"Hey, I made a Second Life 'atavar' today."

E. spits gin across the kitchen table.

"You did what???"

"I made a person in Second Life!"

"What? How? WHEN?"

"At work. I got bored. And I'm tired of playing Monopoly."

"Playi . . . wha? . . . playing Monopoly?? At work?"

I'm having a hard time talking and I don't even know where to start.

"MOM, you can't download Second Life onto your WORK COMPUTER! Your IT department probably has that flagged or something."

"Oh hell, I've worked there for years - they wouldn't fire me for that. I'll just say I didn't know what it was."

"Mom, you're not supposed to be PLAYING GAMES at work anyway!!!"

"I wanted to see where the veterans are going."

*Emerald Wynn runs over to Prad's blog and beats the crap out of him for unwittingly supplying the breakfast conversation in my house today with his veterans in Second Life post*

"Mom, are you KIDDING ME right now????"

"No — I made a girl. The blonde one. I named her Cherry Catnip or something like that. I just can't seem to get away from the Eiffel Tower. And nobody speaks English."

(The blonde one??)

"Mom, do you think you picked FRANCE as your starting community??"

"I don't know. And so far I've only figured out how to go forward and sideways and she can fly and crouch down. I can't make her pick anything up though."

Oh my God.

"Mom, you don't really pick things up in Second Life."

"I went to a chicken farm."


Yep, at this point all my sentences have a tone of extreme disbelief and end with either several question marks, several exclamation points, or both. Get used to it.

"I went to Bart's Chicken Farm but I couldn't get any eggs."

"Mom, you need money. You can't just . . . go somewhere and grab things. How long were you in Second Life today???"

"Just a few hours."


"Bart's Chicken Farm had a lucky thing. My letter kept coming up. I won some things."

Oh my God, she's already discovered LUCKY CHAIRS!!!!

"Mom, how in the hell did you find Bart's Chicken Farm???"

"I clicked that Search button and typed in 'chicken farm.' I also went to some museums. And a school."

Some museums. And a school.

I find it amusing that my clueless mom can stumble into Second Life and figure out how to work the Search engine almost immediately, while meanwhile we have seasoned users constantly bugging people in the Vain group for popular store LMs. No, that's not my PostSecret over on SCD, but I couldn't agree with it more.

"Can you help me get some chickens?"


"I heard you telling your brother about your chickens. I want some chickens."

"Mom, you are totally screwing around with me. You called Dr. Laura Schlessinger or something and she told you to use this twisted reverse psychology on me. I am so not buying this. You did not make a Second Life avatar -- and it's AVATAR, not atavar -- today."

"Yes I did. I get bored at work. I can only do spreadsheets for three hours at a time. I want little chickens to take care of. Can you show me how? What's the name of your person again?"

"Uh-uh. NO WAY. Absolutely not. No, Mom. NO. You don't understand. You can't just log on and get some chickens. You have to pay money. You have to get Second Life money called lindens. You have to get some land and put the chickens somewhere. You have to fix your avatar so you don't look like a noob."

"A what?"

"A NOOB. A new person. You need better clothes and a better skin and a decent walk. It'll consume your life. DAD WILL KILL YOU. You won't get any work done. You'll lose your job. Your life will go to hell. No. Hell no. Stay away, Mom. FOR GOD'S SAKE, DON'T GO BACK IN THERE!"

"But I liked the museum I went to!"

"Mom, I don't care. There are sick people there! Sick sick people! They'll try to take advantage of you. They can be really nasty. A lot of people are just there for fake sex."

"I did go to a place where women were in chains with hardly any clothes on."


"Don't worry. I couldn't figure out how to get my girl's clothes off."


I feel helpless and sick. I feel exactly like I felt when I was 12 and she found my diary and read it. I feel violated. My space is being invaded!!! And it's also a little bit like watching a three-year-old go wheeling around a room full of treacherously stacked china. My mother, on the loose in Second Life. Trying to take off her clothes just for the hell of it. Trying to steal chickens. Oh my God.

"Just tell me your person's name so we can be friends."

There is no witty ending to this particular blog post because at that point I grabbed my gin and tonic and ran out of the kitchen in terror like a girl in a horror movie. If my mother starts hanging around in Second Life, I am so out of there, it's not even funny.

And that's the thing. My mother has a genius IQ. I think she's playing dumb. I think she knows exactly what she's doing. Hell she's probably found this blog. WHAT IF SHE'S READING THIS BLOG?


A few months ago she threatened to come in Second Life and drag me out. I laughed it off.

I totally underestimated her. :\

*logs in to see if there really is a Bart's Chicken Farm or a noob with a name like Cherry Catnip*

Monday, August 3, 2009

I can bring home the bacon (and so can you)



I'm at a loss for words these days, here and everywhere else.

I've tried to write this blog post a million times and I keep nodding off in the middle of it.

Here's what I want to say, in shortish blasts, because I am officially GIVING UP ON PROSE for the day and possibly the week.


Agent Orange currently has that sizzlin', posin' frying pan (pictured at top) in its Midnight Mania board. That gray dot in that photo up there is another pose ball, in case you have a friend who wants to get fried with you. If you don't feel like messing with the MM board, this pan sells for 75L in the store.


Speaking of fried:

Dear Jezbell Nitely, please stop spamming all my groups with your eye-frying misspelled announcements, IN ALL CAPS NONETHELESS, about your "free skins" and other foogly stuff at your place of business. I tried on the free skin you sent to Vain. It makes me look like a low-budget cartoon character:


OK, that was mean. Contrary to what the Cult of Lemania tells me every day (yes, still), I DO have a heart. I DO I DO I DO! So if you want to check out Jezbell's store Indulge — where everything is outrageously priced (as in $1000L dresses) and just as outrageously spelled — and decide for yourself, here's the SLurl. I still smell a rip-off artist though.

Hey, she also sells $2300L "prim babbys":


*screams and runs*

Anyway . . .

I have never been more relieved to get back in my own (Misty in Glam by League) skin:


WOW — what a difference a skin makes!

That Bozena hair in black is my current love affair. It's this month's Subscribo gift from Dark Mouse. Designer Mouse Mimistrobell is so damn talented. When it comes to SL jewelry, I am loyal to four designers, end of story. She's one of them. In that photo, I'm wearing her new release, Flowers on Fire (in Copper), $200L.


I got more "please please please don't start blogging about chickens" IMs and notes after my last post. Aw, I'll try really hard not to. They consume a lot of my SL life these days though, mainly because I have a new goal and that's to open up a stall at a farmer's market, sell some eggs and chickens, and thus proclaim myself an "SL business owner." Woot!

One day I can rock thoughtfully in my rocking chair and hopefully tell my prim 'grandbabbys,' "Yes dearies, when I was in Second Life, I was a blogger, a model AND a business owner. Oh what a wild time it was!"

My favorite chicken Walter died yesterday and I was surprised by how very, very sad I was. He "lag-walked" into outer space and promptly got returned to my Lost and Found folder, dead. He wasn't even shopping at Stiletto Moody or anything like that. He was just sitting in his pen, minding his own little chickie business when suddenly WHOOOOSH, gone. I bought a Walter the Second, but he's not the same shade of baby blue and he doesn't really fill the Walter-shaped void that's in my life now. *sniff*

Aside from the "please don't mention chickens again" pleas, I actually got some requests for more pictures of not-the-sharpest-crayon-in-the-coop Chicken Meara, so here you go kiddies:


Laugh. YES, I tried rotating her in Edit. She just flips upside-down again. She and Buck Rogers are an awesome couple though. Their eggs are pink and green, right out of the old-school "Preppy Handbook" that was so popular in the '80s. (You younguns won't get that reference.)

Those mother-bleepin' chickens are so damn primmy when you have a million of them that I had to remove my purple Victorian beast of a house and replace it with the cute low-prim cottage that was the free gift from The Sea Hole during the Go Fly a Kite hunt.

Then I had to put up a monster eyesore of a chicken coop. So sadly, I took the winter wonderland down for a while. But I found some free rain on XStreet HERE, so I was at least able to keep the weather theme going:


If you don't have an XStreet account and you want some rain, holler at me. It's full-perm. I'll give you some of mine.


The inside of that cottage is quirky and very Emerald Wynn. Too bad I have no prim allowance left for furniture. But while you're looking at the quirk, check out this outfit:


LOL. Yeah, it's raining in there. Oops.

I liked the snow better.

That Ashbury outfit is a current group gift from Spork. It's free to join the group. Those Coco Ankle Wrap Wedges with the dreaded prim feet are a Creators Stamp Rally 2009 prize. I'm not going to try to explain CSR to you. It's all at this Web site HERE. There's even a little comic strip at the bottom of the page for people with zero attention span.

I love CSR. Fun times. I'm getting about five more cards stamped. And buying something freaky at Vooner while I'm at it.

As long as we're talking about freeness -- not freenis -- and XStreet, today was one of those days where I spent long periods of time browsing the free stuff on XStreet. Besides the rain, a Japanese Beachhouse, a shooting star fountain and a box of nature sounds, I also found this cool free 10-prim treehouse (click HERE):


Very nice. At only 10 prims, I'll probably be living in it soon. Then I can at least put a couch down.

This post is still boring. I gots no blog mojo this week. But at least I gave it a shot!

I'll close with a token "Cleaning out My Inventory — YIKES!" photo:


Oh lordy.