Saturday, January 31, 2009

Have you seen my friend?

I'm looking for my friend Asha. She vanished from Second Life several months ago, as we are sometimes prone to do -- myself included -- and no one has seen her since. I miss her.

(Shouts, "ASHA, WHERE ARE YOU???????")

I had a horrible, morbid thought today that she could be dead and none of her Second Life friends would ever know.

Then I felt ashamed of myself for never asking her what her real name was, how her real life was going and what, really, she was all about.

Like a lot of people, I fooled myself into thinking that this isn't all an elaborate game by saying "Oh, we may all be avatars, but the friendships are completely real, and that's really what it's all about here: friendship and fun."

If it's really all about the relationships we form here, why don't I know your real names or what you really look like or if you're hurting in real life and really, truly need a REAL friend? Why do I know every minute detail about the decor in your prefab home or the items in your inventory or the skin you're wearing, but almost absolutely nothing about the real person behind your monitor?

You could say, "Hey, you never asked," but I think we can all agree that it seems really awkward to bring up our real lives in Second Life. It's almost like there's an unspoken rule that we don't talk about them, lest we break the magical spell that we've cast to create these new and improved versions of ourselves.

OH LORDY, don't ask about real life, because then some of you will be forced to admit that while you're sexing it up with a hot avatar in this virtual world, you've got a husband, a wife or a lover who quite possibly needs your attention in the real one. You know, the real world, the one that requires actual work?

If you caught a tone of disgust in that paragraph, it's directed at myself. Sometimes I spend hours in Second Life skipping around in a pretty face and lovely clothes, with perfectly coordinated dance moves and a sexy walk, goofing around with my "friends" -- the people whose names I don't really know. Hell, I go in world to cheat on my whole life.

I hit the "Log In" button and for a few -- sometimes way more than a few -- blissful hours I can forget that in actuality I look a little bit like Mokey Fraggle from "Fraggle Rock" (you younguns can Google it), that I'm getting those annoying tiny wrinkles around my eyes, that my Super Sexy Push-Up Bra really isn't pushing anything up at all, that my ass isn't slowly spreading like a pancake underneath me with every hour I spend at this keyboard, that I am an absolute white-girl klutz on the dance floor (you remember, the ones that don't have dance balls hanging over them), that at the moment I have no job or health insurance, that I used to be a much sought-after writer until the New York Times and every other damn newspaper in this country laid off half their reporters, that the words "wash up" pretty much describe my career right now, that my apartment isn't decked out in cute furniture from Mudshake but is, in fact, a complete disaster, that the man I'm dating in real life isn't a timid little pushover who's also a total bore, that I am terrified that I accidently got a wee bit knocked-up a few weeks ago because my period is late and I am suddenly oh-so-sick in the mornings and hey hey hey this baby definitely will not be a prim one, etc., etc., etc.

A click of the "Log In" button and all of that stuff goes away. At least for a while. Yep, Second Life has become my drug -- a dose of sweet oblivion until I finally log off and am left with the HANGOVER that currently is my actual existence. 

Oh, WHOOPS, I'm sorry. Was that too much information?

But I thought this wasn't a game. I thought you were my friend. You're on my Friends list, aren't you?

If this isn't a game, then why are we all using fake names? Why do I only know three people who have their real photos in the "1st Life" tab on their profiles? I think a whopping two people in Second Life have made the transition to real friendships, but everyone else on my list is a beautiful mystery to me.

I just gave you all the current sordid details of my real life. If you want to see what I look like, scroll down a couple of posts for a photo. My name is Erinn, named after Ireland where most of my family is from -- hence, my really original screen name Emerald. My mother didn't mean to put two Ns on the end of my name -- she said she was too out of it after the delivery to coherently fill out a birth certificate.

You know what? I wish I knew your real names too. And all the funny stories that make you who you are. And what your hopes and dreams are for your real life, not just your inventory or your next build. And how to reach you if you ever "vanish," just so I can at least know you're not dead. And any burdens you happen to be carrying, because I'm happy to share them with you.

Because we're not just a bunch of gamers taking temporary shelter in these perfect fantasies we've created with a few clicks of a mouse and our programming skills, right? As we always say, we're really all about the relationships here, right? Manifesting our truest, purest selves in virtual form? Keepin' it real and all that? 

"It's not a game," we cry in outrage, yet when someone permanently poofs from the grid, many of us are left scratching our heads in confusion.

If anyone knows Asha Brim's real name or where she is now, please let me know. I really miss her.


(I wish someone would've told me a long time ago that boys' hair looks sassy on girls.)

P.S. To all you Plurkers, I killed my Plurk page. It was sucking up my time and attention and, cough, I really need to stay grounded in reality at the moment.

Love and joy to you and yours,

Friday, January 30, 2009

Bow wow wow yippee-o yippee-ay

I logged on this morning and laughed so hard at this damn couch that I am now forced to break my "don't write two stupid blogs in a row" rule.


Before you call my couch GHETTO, check it one more time: It's FLYING.

Flippin' WEEEEEEEEEE, y'all!

And that little grey box on the back is a BOOMBOX!

(Yeah, I'm in an enthusiastic, all-caps mode today. You'll live.)

As you can see, the island on which I live (my fifth-grade English teacher just clapped right there) was dark and deserted this morning, so nobody saw me flying around blasting, "ATOMIC DAWWW-OO-AW-AWG!" 

(It's actually just "Atomic Dog," but when you sing it, you have to put four or five syllables in "dog.") 

**runs to go download that song**


It may be the fact that I'm delirious with fear and anxiety due to the harsh reality that I'm down to my last $2,500 real-life bucks and only one more day of health insurance, but two hours later I'm STILL LAUGHING at this couch. I cannot wait to roll up to a party in this thing and see how many people I can cram on it.

Here's the best news ever: YOU TOO can have this awesome couch FOR FREE if you swing by Aurora Limited Menswear. It's called Best Couch Ever (of course) and even the ad for it induced FREAKIN' UNCONTROLLABLE GIGGLING:


"Looks alright" - LMAO!

My gawd, I am so easily amused. Maybe because that ad looks so much like me and my friends slumming around on some junky couch somewhere.

Speaking of friends and amused, I want to thank my talented pal Ali for making me a skin with nipples the size of Texas (see previous blog post):


This skin was a joke, but actually I really love the face!!

And hey hey hey, this morning I learned not to pose with my arms behind my back!

(Let's see if Photobucket deletes that photo.)

I posted that pic on Plurk but then quickly took it down because I'm suddenly feeling unsure of social boundaries there. Even though my nips are covered and that chest is a cartoon, I don't want anyone to accuse me of forcing my boobs on them. :P

Um, I had a lot of productive things planned today. But now that I see the fashion bloggers have got this Same Damn Thing challenge going on, I'm tempted to scratch my best-laid plans and jump back on and give it a shot, even though I'm so not an official fashion blogger.

We'll see.

Have a master-blaster, soopa-boombastic weekend!

Thursday, January 29, 2009

On hoochies, giant nipples, beauty and the search for Truth

OH LAWDY, I don't even know where to start, but I need to post something or I'll lose my five readers, so here we go:

1. Dear SL Store Owners,

If you want me to shop in your store or join your group, you could help by not putting extra symbols in the beginning of the name, like "..::!!{Emerald's} Body Bling Boutique!!::.." or "♥Sexy Sehra's Squirrel Shoppe♥." Frankly I'm not smart enough to include hearts, colons, periods, asterisks, exclamation points or brackets when I'm searching for a store or a group.

For example, I wanted to hit the buzz-generating hair sale at Truth the other day. I don't know Truth Hawks personally, I like his work and I'm not dissing him here. I'm just sayin':

I searched for "Truth" in SL's trusty search engine and ended up IN CHURCH:


(At Basilica Cardinale Cathedral)

Then I discovered that Truth's store's name actually is spelled >Truth<. You fellow Truth-seekers can clicky here for the SLurl if you need it. Even with the symbols, it still doesn't show up in Search, so scratch my bitching up there and join me in continuing to loudly yelp that SL needs a better search engine.


That's the "pray the rosary" pose in the pew, BTW. I forgot my rosary (but you can grab a free one by clicking the sign in the back of the cathedral) so I tried to draw one into the photo. Epic fail.

Speaking of praying, I'm really heartbroken because I took that hair off and now can't remember what it's called or who made it. I have no clue how I'll ever find it again in my folder of 9,000 hair styles. (Someone *cough* really needs to sort and organize her 45K items.) If anyone recognizes it, please let me know. 

(In other fashion news, the swingy little cocktail dress is called Zoee Dress by DYN Clothing and the skin is Shyla Black Red in Penny, on sale for 20L at the giant Dilly Dolls sale . . . and HEY note that none of that stuff is free, Prad.)

Speaking of church and Prad Prathivi, he and Rrishanna Regina tackle the topic of SL spirituality over on Metaversally Speaking -- specifically HERE and HERE -- in case you're itching for something more deep and meaningful on that subject. 

And contrary to the ribbing I occasionally take, I DON'T constantly fangirl Prad in this blog -- only about once a month. And it's completely innocent: I have a healthy respect for him from a purely literary standpoint. That blog is one of the rare few that I love. Plus, his AV looks a little bit like my first love and fifth-grade boyfriend, Manuel. Not that your AV looks like a prepubescent kid, Prad! Manuel was an early bloomer. 

Oh God, I'm shutting up now. 

2. If you really want to catch a generous slice of SL life in action, you need only go to your nearest lucky chair-of-the-moment.

Am I the only one who notices that most of the people stalking the chair at Rezzable's Crimson Shadow look like they would never in a million years actually wear the outfit or, if so, look, um, right in it?



At another widely popular Lucky Chair, the chickie below was, in open chat, telling her fellow chair stalkers (me included, since I was forced to read it) about all the money she makes as a dominatrix and offering pointers to anyone who wanted to get started in the business:


Um, thanks. And hey hey hey, honey, I'm sure those intricately detailed (and so damn gorgeous) clothes and goth dolly dresses in the chair at The Black Canary will fit in PERFECTLY with your whips and latex! (And no, she wasn't holding the McCain sign. That's bad humor on my part.)

I want her boobs though.

I fell prey to Lucky Chair Fever when I waited for about an hour at Towa for these Miracle Heart eyes with particle tears:


(It's hard to get a shot of tears falling rapidly.)

Now I can mope around SL weeping and being all emo.

That skin is from Tres Very in Light/Peachy and I am so damn happy to be back in it. I try on a ton of skins but always end up being a Tres Very loyalist. Someone needs to throw a parade in skin designer Verotica Lewis' honor -- she doesn't get enough play in the blogs.

3. Speaking of shopping for skins, I know certain, ahem, parts are important to us, but I remain shocked when someone gets buck-naked in a store to try on skins:


(Couldn't show the front because I know from experience that Photobucket will delete it for "inappropriate content.")

And I also had to finally mute a colorful discussion about skins in a prominent fashion group because it was making me throw up in my mouth (albeit hilarious). Names have been replaced to protect privacy. HERE COME THE NIPPLES!

[10:36] Chatter 1: Nipples are one of my main focus when looking for skins
[10:37] Chatter 1: some are too dark
[10:38] Chatter 2: i'm okie with nipple as long as areola isn't size of Texas
[10:38] Chatter 3: "down there hair" for me lol..... i hate skins with giant bushes.... they should all give you options IMO

I clicked "mute" when they got to "landing strips." I was eating pizza at the time. And actually, I now kind of WANT a skin with areolae the size of Texas, just so I can seduce new SL residents and then freak the hell out of them during the SL sex deflowering.

4. Three more random pics with little discussion (I promise) and then we're done:


I'm not into textures because I'm not a creator, but sure, I'll show up at a texture mob vendor to help a sister out. Just don't hold it against me when my AV looks like an icy bitch for some reason.


Sometimes when I'm blue, I go to Legends of China, listen to the music and watch the dancers. It's so beautiful it makes my heart hurt, in a good way. (Shopping tip: In Stone Ryba's nearby store, many of her gorgeous, gorgeous, traditional Chinese ensembles are on sale for 100L upstairs. I bought a bunch. So watch for me decked out in elaborate cheongsams in the near future.)

And finally, I went to my first and last (I swear) Comicon last weekend just to meet my former teen crush Gil Gerard, who played Buck Rogers back in the '80s. I know some people consider it a cardinal sin to mix RL and SL, but humor me. I'm still buzzing off the whole experience:


WHOOPS! I kind of molested the poor guy, but he's an actor so he's doing a great job of acting like this is our engagement picture. I need eyebrows. And a comb. 

Shoot, I just killed the whole Emerald fantasy for you, huh?

My ex-bf looked at this pic and said, "More photographic proof that you are quite possibly a half-breed elf," which is exactly the type of CHARMING comment that landed him in the EX-bf category in the first place.

The End.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Me, Obama and a slightly annoying fetus

This post will be meaningless and all over the place, but if you read this blog, you're used to it.

If you're in the mood for more thoughtful posts on love and the state of the SL economy, go HERE and HERE, respectively.

In the meantime:

1. I live in the desert. It was 80 degrees F. here today. I'm so jealous of all you people buried in snow, so I have this creative fantasy of transforming into a really frosty avatar for a while. I've been looking all over for the perfect skin, hair and wardrobe that conveys the feeling of ice, ice, baby.

I saw this Lorilei hair by Exile over on Gogo's JuicyBomb blog, specifically HERE, and wanted it.

Unfortunately, as with almost all of Exile's hair, I CAN'T FIT IT to my BIG FAT HEAD, GAH!


Hot mess.


2. Remember that day recently when SL was having major issues? ("That day," ha ha! Which one?) Some of us could log in, but many were locked out. For those of you who couldn't log in -- or for that matter, can't in the future -- don't feel bad. Whenever I tried to TP anywhere, I ended up in a scene like this one:


(Hey, for the record, Perez Hilton was inspired with the whole "drawing on photos" thing by ME. I've been doing it since I was 7.)

Not only were we all stuck there, but no one could move. And of course, some guy kept yelling, "LET'S ALL GET NAKED!" and everyone got their gestures on.

Good times.

3. I didn't vote for Obama, but he's my President now so he's got my support . . . for now. Mostly I like seeing how optimistic everyone is. I get really emotional on Inauguration Day, and since there was nothing going on in Tucson I turned to my trusty source for all things SLintellectual and SLeducational, Hamlet Au at New World Notes, for ideas on how to celebrate in Second Life.

Hamlet recently Plurked a request for Inauguration Day SL pics. I'd send him mine, but, uh . . . I'm thinking no. I'm sure you are too.

I started off the day at the Netroots Nation Island's live streaming audio/video of the event. But since I recently downloaded a new beta RC for Mac, I lost all my settings and forgot that streaming video wasn't automatically enabled anymore. So I sat there like a dolt, staring at a blank screen for awhile before giving up and watching it on my television while I chatted inworld with a friend. My AV was there the whole time though:


That chick behind me is an SL mentor, BTW. She made me feel better because her ARC was higher than mine. And NO, I didn't make her sign a photo release contract. If any of you see yourselves in my photos and hate it, holler and I'll remove them immediately.

That dress I'm wearing is a gift from my favorite group/store Shiki Designs. Join the update group, go to the store and you can get it too. It's cool but it has a very complicated name: Black and White Winter Dress. Sorry I'm not standing, or you could really see it in all its glory. (Ding Fotherington does it justice in her blog HERE though.)

The people on Netroots Nation Island ranged from the creepy to the completely un-rezzed to the patriotic:


I covered the eyes of the girl in front (with a Photobucket sunglasses 'sticker'!) to protect her privacy, but for the record, I think photosourced hair is CREEPY AS HELL. Let's all just STOP uploading real photos of real textures, please? It freaks me out. Plus, I thought we were all here to ESCAPE reality.

Note the instructions sign that I failed to read. It happened to be RIGHT NEXT TO ME. Maybe if I would have clicked my streaming video on, I wouldn't have wasted all my time taking pics of creepy AVs. Like this chick:


How do I get MY eyes to do that? I think it's just a matter of sliders.

And you know, I really have to hand it to those people out there who are striving to be original. Honest to God, I do. So many of us are too damn concerned with being fashionable, glamorous or cute. And then there are those awesome, awesome hilarious people out there who just say "screw it" and max out various sliders. And frankly, I really think those are the people who truly get it. SL is supposed to be fun and, HELL YEAH, funny. Why burden ourselves with the same pressures to be popular, charming, beautiful and perfect as we do in real life?

I don't know if that sentence was grammatically correct.

I spent a lot of time being fascinated with this woman:


Here's a frontal view:


I really, really want to believe that this was some kind of a glitch or had something to do with my viewer. Otherwise, damn honey, that is a long-ass torso you're rocking there.

I saw Obama in the front row:


Later that night, I crashed a couple of SL's inauguration balls alone. Sigh.

Here's a shot of the party at Sugar Hill with DJ Marjorie Dibou. Actually, there were several other dateless women dancing out there, but I couldn't get the dance ball to work, so I just stood there like a wallflower for a while.


I'm wearing Nicky Ree's Elegant Laura gown in red and white, BTW, because I know you're dying to know. I thought it looked fairly White House.

Here's a side shot of it. Nicky Ree would probably kick my ass if she knew I colored her prims from silver to white, but the silver just looked like blotches that never rezzed to me:


The hair is Shir from Exile, as part of the Heart of Love fundraising effort to raise money for Shir Dryke's heart transplant. I don't know Shir, and I'll probably be the only one to publicly say, "I really HOPE this chick is REAL and honestly needs our help."

I'm sure she is. Clickie HERE for all the information you need.

I went from Sugar Hill to Capitol Hill, where people were rocking Eshi Otawara's gowns, including Eshi herself:


It reeeeeally was fancy, and I was the ONLY one there alone, so I snapped that pretty bad pic and then left quickly.

That's about the extent of my Inauguration Day adventures. I know you're all fanning yourselves and breathing heavily by now.

4. And finally, Kissable Kitties is closing, which is sad, and everything in the store is marked down to about $1L, with fat packs at $5 to S10L. There are some great shapes for $1L along the back wall too.

It was a madhouse in there today. A pregnant woman with a talking fetus kept getting in my way. I know we women are supposed to be all proud of showing off The Belly and everything but, um, it's time for a part of my blog that I like to call:



All that bling cannot be good for the baby!!!

She even had bling on her eyelashes, but I swear she somehow psychically knew I was camming around after her, because she ran away from me and then poofed when I zoomed in for a close-up.

That's all my news.

Signing off.

Friday, January 16, 2009

Rock that scarlet "SL", baby

He sipped wine and looked at me with apprehension across a candlelit table.

"So, um, I have to be honest -- it kind of bothers me," he said.

I knew what was coming, but I tried to look innocent as I asked him why.

"You write it in first-person," he continued. "Like you think it's . . . real?"

"Absolutely not," I assured him. "Just think of it as fiction."

The topic was delicate. 

The topic was this blog.

And unfortunately we weren't two well-groomed avatars on a giddy pixelated date against a gorgeous Windlighted backdrop. 

We were two adults "trying each other on for size" in the real world, dining in a crowded restaurant on Date No. 3 -- he, in rumpled business attire after a long day at the office; me after hours of agonizing over my hair, makeup and how best to dress my way-too-prominent bones (a newish development ever since my appetite vanished with my employment status).

He was a successful executive who, if I squinted, looked like Harry Connick Jr. He had a nice house, a dog and a 10-year-old son. His jokes were bad, but his kisses were off the charts, so up until that moment he was getting a pretty high score in my book.

And up until that moment, I thought I was getting a pretty high score in his.

Up until that moment.

"Well, I never really took you for one of those Star Trek/World of Warcraft people," he said. "And, um, reading that blog, it seems like you're really into that game. . . . [pause] . . . It looks like something my son would play???"

(Oh lord, buddy, you'd better hope not.)

His eyes pleaded for reassurance.

I cursed Google, and the fact that GENIUS GOOGLE had found the one teeny Web site in the world out there that linked my real name with this blog, and the fact that the guy had felt the need to Google me anyway. Why can't they ever just stop at a credit report and a criminal background check and LEAVE IT at that????

When I got done with the internal cursing, I gave him my timeline of "Why I'm on Second Life" excuses:

-- It started with a guy in real life.

-- The guy lived in Texas, so we used Second Life as a "long-distance relationship tool."

"It's just like chatting on AIM," I explained. "Except you use avatars and, I don't know, you can um, swing on a romantic swing or hug or kiss or . . . you know, whatever."

("Swing on a romantic swing." Oh God. Or get naked and have pixelated shower sex with your fully animated private parts. And by the way, my boobs are HUGE there -- you'd love 'em!)

The excuses continued:

-- "Well you see, as the former PR director for [a global company], it really was my job to get on Second Life because I was constantly evaluating offers from marketing firms that wanted to create a Second Life version of the brand. . . .

-- ". . . and even though I'm now unemployed and obviously no longer speaking to Long Distance Romance, I stay on SL because I have other friends there . . .

-- ". . . oh, also I should really stay tuned-in to that whole, um, 'forum,' because I fully intend to be employed again someday and, as such, need to be as current and as well-versed in all aspects of social networking as possible . . .

-- ". . . and, um, because I work with fashion and beauty editors in real life, Second Life can be educational in that . . . uh . . . aspect since it mirrors so many real-life fashion trends, so, um, you know, I can really get a feel for what women respond to there and . . .

-- ". . . well, it's actually kind of like an interesting sociology experiment, just to, you know, watch how people react in that 'venue' and, uhhhh, since I'm supposed to be a public relations expert, I'm always studying how people, um, relate [that's it, 'relate'!] to each other and how they relate to virtual businesses and uh . . .

-- ". . . hey, are you gonna eat that last shrimp?"

Hell no, I didn't hear from him again. I got a polite e-mail from him a few days later, stumbling through a badly worded depiction of a hectic work schedule, a busy life, parenting responsibilities, his epiphany that I deserve someone with more free time, etc., etc., etc. 

It failed to say the one thing he really meant:

"You're a geek who totally and completely freaked me out with your weird and kinky video game."

Crushed, I vowed to grow up and start acting like an adult.

I demolished the online evidence of the connection between Me and Emerald Wynn.

And I turned my thoughts to more dour grownup topics, like unemployment insurance, grout cleaning, Oprah Winfrey's world domination, me vs. cat puke, birth control pills and how much I hate them, coupon-clipping, vitamin intake, energy conservation, smaller pores, soy candles, world peace, acclimating myself to a cheaper brand of gin, fiber grams, toenail fungus, whether or not to purchase an Obama Victory Plate for my future imaginary grandchildren, "what the hell is that smell in my refrigerator?", headhunters, human resources departments, references, to tweet or not to tweet, Deepak Chopra, decaffeination, "I swear to God that's a blow-up doll my next-door neighbor is banging over there," eyebrow waxing, lip waxing, bikini waxing, ShamWow!, omega-3 fish oils, "mineral makeup is bullsh*t," gas prices, cell phone minutes, Nancy Grace, recycling, antioxidants, free radicals, peptides, acai berries, terrorism, plane crashes, kidnappings, confession, communion, genuflection, meditation, "I always thought I hated Kelly Ripa but I actually sort of like her," coloring in scuff marks on black shoes with a Sharpie because shoe polish costs $4, horoscopes, my IRA, cashing out my IRA, 401Ks, cashing out my . . . "Hey, where the hell IS my 401K???", Jehovah's Witnesses and how to keep them away from my door, status updates, text messages, apps, deadlines, invoices, receipts, "I didn't think it was humanly possible but I really do think my ears have gotten bigger this year," my roots (hair, not ancestry), my roots (ancestry, not hair), antiquing, spellcheck, grammar, word counts, biographies, business books, self-help books, the economy, the lack of an economy, cover letters, war, whether or not I can handle Wal-Mart in the middle of the day and dead-sober, taking money from my Visa to pay off my MasterCard, taking money from my Discover card to pay off my Visa, taking money from my savings account to pay off my Discover card, "How many pizzas can I order before Pizza Hut thinks I'm a shut-in?", Excedrin, Advil, Tylenol, Xanax, Midol, Ambien, Pepto Bismol, Lexapro, hand-sanitizer, hairball remedy (not for me), Rescue Remedy, lactose, gluten, smoothies, Spanx, wheat grass, my thyroid, "wash in cold water with like colors," Starbucks, duvet covers, tire pressure, "let set for two minutes" and why????, filtered water, whitening strips, crunches, lunges, curls, the Downward Dog, belly breathing, getting into the gap, getting into The Gap, designer knockoffs, toxins, cellulite cream, ant traps, the paralyzing decision between nutty or creamy, tax write-offs, consignment shops, five-dollar foot-longs, dollar menus, dollar stores, "can I borrow a dollar?". . . ENOUGH!!!!!!

Yeah. It was like that.

So after a couple of months of that little experiment, one day I stopped and declared, "I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF THINKING LIKE AN ADULT FOR A WHILE!"

And I logged back on here.

It was like a sigh of sweet relief. Like a druggie getting a fix? Ah, how about just embracing the realization that I have FUN when the world isn't on my shoulders, when my mind isn't clouded with all those ultimately meaningless details, and when I'm goofing around with my friends, whether they're online or in front of my actual flawed face.

And the last time I checked, a little fun is nothing to be ashamed of. Particularly these days.

If a man ever looks at me across a dimly lit table again, a question on his lips and eyes begging for reassurance, I'm just gonna shrug and say,

"I'm a creative type. I need my playtime. Now pour us some more wine, kiss me and shut the hell up."

(My thanks to Luth Brodie over on SL Revolution for the post, "That Cold Dead Stare of Confusion" -- I've seen it too.)

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Oh, you filthy, filthy drama queens!

I guess I need to apologize to several people who saw my "Why I'm Not a Fashion Writer" headline on other blog rolls and came scooting over here anticipating lotsa juicy, smack-talking reasons why I'm not a fashion writer.

Whoops. That's really not my thing. I try to keep it all peaceful and lovely over here (which is probably why I only have eight readers). Unless you're in public without a shirt or pants on, the only person getting mocked here usually is me.

I'll break form just this once though, just for the people who made the foreign trek over here again: 

"Damn, you glamazon divas have so much drama flying in all directions, I don't know how you find the time or energy to fuel my fashion fantasies with your lust-inducing threads and the enticing words you write about them."

("Threads": Hell yeah, I just took you all the way back back BACK to the to the '70s, babies. Live it. Love it. And bask in the warmth of that long-ass sentence.)

I've got NOTHING going on in SL and I still can't even adjust a skirt prim.

Even though I don't know a lot of the backstories, or even the front stories, of most of the beautiful people, I did spend some time today living vicariously through them by scoping out about about two months of posts on Shopping Cart Disco, SL Revolution, Mayne Line Expose (WTF -- I didn't make the LIST!?), Go Fug YourSL and Are You F!@#ING Serious?, among other Sites I Visit When I Really Should Be Looking for a Job and/or a Rich Man.

ZOMG, the shocking shite that's been going down. I was exhausted when I finally digested all of it. 


(In SL, you too can build a snowman on the beach!)

Speaking from the perspective of someone who also has (ACCIDENTALLY!) kissed a girl posing as a guy in world (and did not like it, Kate Perry), I originally wanted to turn the rest of this post into a PSA begging people FOR GOD'S SAKE to STOP DOING THAT . . . but I think I'll save it for another time.

Heyyyyy, time to change subjects! :D

Here's why one of my New Year's resolutions is NOT to jack around with my face anymore while I'm waiting for the Ambien to kick in:


(The bunny and I are watching you.)

I also somehow turned my legs into puffy sausages squeezed in at the knees. I don't know how to fix this, actually. There isn't a "knees" slider, as far as I can tell:


If you too are having problems with your shape, I suggest you head over to the most excellent Shapes Tutorial (Part 1!) post by the lovely Meara Deschanel on the What the Fug? blog. Thanks, Meara! I tried following your guidelines. I look a little meatier now, which is a good thing, and I don't have a martian head anymore.

Unfortunately, I'll still always shrink the booty slider way the hell down to almost nothing when wearing skirts, particularly system skirts. 

We're dealing with enough stress in both worlds without the added threat of my badonka-donk-donk in all of our faces.

Now I just need an SL nose job and a chin that won't slice through glass, and I'm all good.

And finally, I never intended for this blog to be a "freebie alert!" kind of thing, particularly since there are so many blogs out there that are doing it oh-so right, but I'm loving this gift from Stitch by Stitch right now. I'm a huge Stitch By Stitch fan. The quirky, fun clothes make me feel yippy-skippy.


That outfit is called Ramona, but for some reason I renamed it "Little Monkey Dress" in my Stitch By Stitch inventory folder. As mentioned in my previous post, get it HERE in the gift bags at the Mantova International Arts & Fashion Festival runway, available through Friday.

Stitch by Stitch's Mantova runway show is at noon SLT on Friday (1/16).

Those boots are called Florence (in black!) from Kitties Lair. I got them as a noob, I think, and I did have to use a "scrubber" script to de-bling them. The hair is Roughup in Blonde from Junwave. Skin is the lovely Megan A Light from Rockberry.

That stupid look on my face is courtesy of me.

Hey, look at my fish tank!

(Fish tank available for your own photo backdrops -- just give me a holler.)

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Why I'm not a fashion writer

I have a not-so-fond memory right now of myself at an Apple store a little more than a year ago, gainfully employed, credit card in hand and ready to buy a MacBook Pro.

The Mac Expert (or whatever they're called) asked me if I was a graphics artist. I said no.

Then he said, "Well, do you play any online games, like Second Life or World of Warcraft?"

Back then, I didn't know what the "online game" of Second Life was, so I said no.

Once he figured out that I primarily wanted a laptop for writing articles that now barely pay my bills, he said, "Well, why would you want to spend $3K on a MacBook Pro when all you really need is a MacBook?"

He actually "downsold" me on this tiny laptop. And I sort of curse that moment now, particularly when I'm squinting at fashion shows and seeing stuff like this:


RAWWWWWK that red bracelet and those big gray eyelashes, baby!!

Yep, I logged on today (after a two-month "detox/reality check" in the real world) and decided to get back in the SL groove by checking out a runway show. But not until after I gleefully dug through a bunch of yummy group gifts.

Baiastice's January gift is called Purpless. And [the oBscene]'s "Happy New Year!" gift is some groovy hair called Meggie in Midnight.

Put them together and they look like this (and BTW, I included that girl in the blurry green dress in this pic because MY GAWD, that dress is CUTE! Well played, honey! And I think the WIDE EXPANSE of cobblestone street between us, the blurry "WTF?" look on that chick's face as she checks out my outfit, my own space-case facial expression, and that hipster gray dude in the back really ENHANCE the shot. **bows and accepts photography award**):


Yeahhhhhh, um, it's a little purple. The generosity of Sissy Pessoa is unmatched, though. This outfit comes with soooooo many pieces (and options), I forgot to write them all down. Shoes are included. So is the purse:


I have a feeling the "What Not to Wear" duo on TLC would grab me and tell me not to wear this whole outfit at the same time (matchy matchy!!), but whatever. Once I got it all on, I didn't feel like changing. Plus, I really think the hair catapults the whole ensemble into bad-ass avant gardeville! I just need some big damn Posh Spice sunglasses to polish it all off. 

**runs from the What the Fug girls**

So anyhoo, today I went to the Haute Style & Co. and Gracie's combined runway show at the Mantova International Art & Fashion Festival, which runs through Friday.

TP in HERE. And GRAB the fun goodie bags waiting near the TP point. You'll get a folder with great gifts from Stitch By Stitch, ALB Dream Fashion, Runway magazine and SLCN.TV (specifically, wall and standing TV sets, yip yip!) -- as well as a complete schedule of events and shows.

The festival is a weeklong celebration of art and fashion from the international design community, featured at the Mantova sims and sponsored by the Mantova Group. There are fashion shows every day at noon and 4 p.m., various forms of art and entertainment all day, and "dancing with DJs" every night from 6 to 8 p.m. (And you know, I don't think you get to actually dance with the DJs -- but if so, I'm so THERE, baby -- I just write it like I see it.)

Here's a Web site about it, actually: CLICKIE! 

It's in Italian, so I don't understand a WORD of it! The pictures are great though!

Anyway, I loved the fashion show today. This outfit was particularly stunning:

"Ralph, shown by Olyvia, is a brilliant blend of color and style, with a replicating pattern that spans from the top of the bodice to the hem of the skirt."



This one actually looked like a gown I would really like . . . if I could see it:


(Kaits Doll by Gracie's. I could be spelling the name of the outfit wrong -- I don't think it's out yet. I couldn't find it in her store or on her blog.)


**kicks computer across the room**

Hey, why do people feel the need to scream out the models' names during fashion shows? 

Or scream out each other's names, for that matter? 

Or just blatantly open-chat about stupid things while the poor announcer is up at the podium trying to read detailed descriptions of all the pretty gray outfits I can't see?

"You look so CUUUUUUUTE!"



We get it: You know the models, you know the fashion crowd, you look cute, she looks cute, he looks cute, everything is so damn cute, now shut the hell up.

Meanwhile, all I want to do is yell, "WOULD EVERYONE PLEASE HIT 'REBAKE'?"

Actually, the coolest thing I've ever seen at a runway show was a guy who ran naked up onto the runway and set himself on fire. It was oh-so bad of him but oh-so awesome. If you can make me laugh, then I guess you are allowed to act obnoxious. Otherwise, zip it -- your mouth and your pants.

And to my friends, here's why I always turn to you and say, "Hey, do I have little gray balls revolving around me -- or floppy gray blotches around my eyes?"


Yeah, yeah, yeah -- I know she's a big deal. I'm not mocking her. I'm mocking my stupid computer. Her J-Lo dress was cool, actually. Even when she was standing still, it floated all around her. How do I get these leather pants to do that?

And woooooo, girl, you have gotta be working that nipple tape!!! That is impressive. I felt really . . . covered up . . . standing next to her in my puffy purple ski vest/turtleneck sweater combo.

Um, so I can only take so many gray shapes in one day, so I left the fashion show early and went to a great hair store called House of Munster. I thought I rocked for "discovering" it, but now I see it's all over the blogs. Oh well.

HoM is on a sim called Twilight, and if I sound like a noob for not knowing about this sim before, well, whatever -- I've been on vacation. 

But DAMN, everything is so cool and snowy everywhere right now!!! Joy! It's my first winter in SL and I love the ice. It mirrors my soul and my current frosty outlook on life:


My foot is so excited to be there, it's glowing.

I bought this hair called Fluffeh . . . in Pinks . . . so I could look even more obnoxious in purple:


But . . . but . . . Santa promised me a facial expression for Christmas. :(

(Skin: "Debby Cream MU 18" by Dutch Touch, group gift)

Yeah, yeah, yeah - I know you hate my taste in hair. Shut up.

Hey, lookit my fish tank!!!

Thursday, January 8, 2009

I can't stay away!!!!!

I tried to stay away, but I can't!!!!!

I miss my beautiful friends.

I'm coming in this weekend! 

Shite . . . do I still even have a house? 

I don't want to log on to freaking Orientation Island.

(In RL: Still FREAKING unemployed, but whatever.)