You're not gonna like this post

. . . because it's just a bunch of bad pictures of my AV dancing.

As you may know, I've been feeling a little vanilla lately so I switched to this look. I wish I could tell you who makes that fab skin, but I got BOOTED out of SL a while ago and I still can't get back in. (UPDATE: The skin is by Skinthesis, called Hob gray in Unseelie from the Sidhe Collection.]

(Hello, Thursday Morning -- I still can't get in. Irritating, yet refreshingly healthy-feeling. I guess I'll resort to the shocking behavior of reading the newspaper and breathing fresh air instead.)

What the hell, Lindens??? I only have a couple of days left for zombie popcorn!!!!!

But anyway, I've still got the SL fever, so I'm just gonna blog a bunch of these photos that are scattered all over my desktop. (And a day later, I'm laughing at all the blogs that say, "Sorry about these random photos . . . I can't get inworld." I thought I was the only one who sought inspiration in my pile of "bad bad pictures" [as opposed to the usual "bad pictures"].)



(Yeah, that A&M MOCAP sign really ruins the artistic and inspirational mood of this award-winning photo. But I had to choose between leaving it in there or, GASP, cropping out a boob along with it. Unfortunately, I will not sacrifice cleavage for art.)

Um, so the Fantasy Faire was the coolest thing that's happened in my non-eventful SLife for a while. I'm sorry if this opinion ticks anyone off, but I thought it was so much better than last year's Fantasy Faire. In fact, I was actually pretty reluctant to go because I have still have a bajillion neglected folders full of stuff from Fantasy Faire 2009.



I ran into my talented and adorable friend Aisuru Rieko there! Awwwwww, she's so CUTE!!! I wanted to pick her up and swing her around. (Hey, how did you get such CUTE FEET, Aisuru???)

Anyway, what usually happens is, I go to Fantasy Faire, get FANTASY FEVER, decide I'm going to be an elf or a mermaid or a dragon or something for the rest of my SLife, spend a boatload of lindens on . . . well, frankly a bunch of elven crap (ducks and runs from a gang of angry elves now - KIDDING), and then the phase passes and I take my attention deficit disorder elsewhere.

Kind of like when I decided to be a pirate after last year's RFL Clothing Fair.

I swore it wasn't going to happen this year. But it did. And now I own a 999L Elven House, this trippy skin, these ears, a bunch of . . . giant sparkly plants (??), a REALLY EXPENSIVE ROBOT SUIT, a . . . monster in a box . . . or something, and GOD ONLY KNOWS what else.

I'm blaming Ambien and a slight urge to hoard things.

And you know, to be honest, I have totally lost track of where I was going with this post.

Um . . . I went to Fantasy Faire, I liked it, The End.

I still haven't changed out of my Fantasy Faire-wear.



On a totally unrelated note . . .

Whenever I want to laugh my ass off, I go to A&M MOCAP or some other dance store and make fun of my avatar dancing. I've been working on my chim lately and in the process I've learned that, despite my best efforts, there is absolutely NO DANCE in existence that doesn't make my AV look like a damn fool.

HA HA HA! See, I'm totally laughing right now. You probably have to be there though.

Um, I guess that's it. Oh, speaking of dancing, I could not love THIS DANCE QUEEN BLOG more. Scroll past the event listings (even though those are interesting too) and watch some of the dance sequence videos. Very cool, especially because they share the choreography formula with clueless readers like me.

(I think I just made up the term "choreography formula"? It means "what dances they used, where they got them, and the order in which they used them.")

On a more serious note, several people have asked me if I'm going to post some drama-llama e-mails on a separate Web page. I'm only posting them HERE to help out a good friend. I don't want to talk about them in world, please.

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(laugh out loud)
(You just got Rick rolled.)

I meant for it to look like that

Shoot. My AV is seriously starting to look like someone I'd want to bitch-slap in real life.

Must fix later.

[How to Crop a Photo, by Emerald Wynn: "Always make sure there are some random-ass TREETOPS in your photo. Then repeat after me: 'It's not all about ME, it's also about NATURE. I looked long and hard for this perfect setting to convey my deep emotions about this gown.'"]

I'm in the Fashion Bloggers group and I like it there. It makes me feel special. So occasionally I must enrich the lives of my 44 followers (wow, thank you, Followers!) with some pictures of stylish clothes. And thank you too, Blogger, for encouraging the formation of cults.



(Pose by Get Bent.) (I think.)

Yesterday I saw this new Nerinda gown (600L) at Baiastice and screamed, "GIMME!" The weather is getting really beautiful outside -- as evident by the fact that I'm hunched over a laptop inside -- and this dress feels perfect to me: an arresting floral explosion against layers of voluminous, biting red.

("Did she just call that dress biting?!")

I'm sure that's exactly what Sissy Pessoa was thinking when she designed it: "And this one's for all those angsty bitches with spring fever!"

[How to Style a Dress, by Emerald Wynn: "Repeat this phrase after me: 'This gown is so lovely and complex that adding a necklace would just create a distracting fashion mess.' Look confident when you say it. Pretend you weren't too lazy to dig through your 90K inventory to find suitable jewelry. Nod wisely. Act like you totally planned to have green fingernails too . . . to symbolize more nature."]

So I snatched it up, took it home, put it on, went immediately up to my roof, dorked around with the dinosaur for a while, then took it off and put it in the "Dresses I Really Like" folder in my inventory. (And it was never seen again.)

Check out the back:



Help, it's a shark.

I also bought this flirty little dress called Sweet Disposition. I believe it's somewhere in the realm of 300-and-something lindens.

[How to Disguise the Fact that You're a Somewhat Lazy Blogger, by Emerald Wynn: "Shrug and repeat after me: 'If you have to ask, you can't afford it' and bang your Sheila E. drum set. Don't forget to kick the cymbal with a paisley covered boot. Google 'cymbal' to make sure you spelled it right. Proper spelling for the win."]



Love!

("Is that a tree coming out of your butt, or are you just happy to see me?")

Hair: Mena in Almond by Truth. Necklace: Lotus Flower by Mandala. Skin: Alyson, 9, sun-kissed, cleavage option, by Belleza. And another comma for the hell of it: ,

All excerpts are from my forthcoming book: "There's No Such Thing as a Mistake When You're a Confident Liar."

Speaking of, I've seen the feeds today. I know you can find way better photos of this FREE spiral staircase with 24 poses in it from Behavior Body (at Baiastice):



But mine's the only one with a dinosaur and completely jacked-up stairs. (Um, be careful when you move it -- the parts aren't linked.)

"I wanted them to look like that. I'm an artist. I'm making a statement: Sometimes life just doesn't line up right."

Join me now as I try to get "Stairway to Heaven" out of my head for the rest of the day.

[A witty ending goes here.]

Spitting your anger into an imaginary ocean

(Hi from my lunch break at work.)

This picture has no purpose, actually, except for the fact that I like taking big damn pictures of my face while I'm hanging upside down. (I think I'm hanging off an elephant's trunk. Getcho minds out of the gutter.)

I'm not going to talk about that Belleza Elle skin because by now you've probably read about it on a much better blog. Yeah, I like it. Not as much as Alyson, but it's a'ight. (I have no clue how to spell that word.)

So I've been gone for a while.

It started with getting rushed to the hospital -- OK wait, that sounds melodramatic, try "swiftly driven to the hospital" instead -- a few weeks ago because I thought I was having a heart attack. And what's funny is, all I was really thinking during that rush was, "Oh my God, I'm gonna end up being one of those 30-something-year-old chicks who have a heart attack and, as such, become part of a little-known statistic in an American Heart Association pamphlet." (Heart disease is the No. 1 killer of women.)

Seriously.

Not "Oh shoot, my heart is about to explode" or "These could be my last moments on Earth," but "Damn, my legacy will be part of some doctor's office pamphlet that no one is really going to read."

Nice.

Oh the things we think about when our lives are in potential danger

But it wasn't a heart attack. It was a panic attack -- a bad one. Gee, that's not embarrassing or anything.

The whole experience made me worry about what would happen if we really did have a zombie war.

Like, I always thought I'd be one of the "kick ass until I get chomped" zombie fighters, but now I'm worried that I might be one of those chicks that, you know, scream, cry, fall down a lot, freak out, hyperventilate and basically annoy the hell out of everyone until somebody says, "Just throw her to the zombies as a distraction and then let's all haul ass."

Um . . . I'd better follow the rules for being a good blogger and break up this text with a picture:



Neigh. (Try a high-res pic next time, Emerald.)

This is what my viewer looks like these days: distorted and stretched. I look like a forlorn horse.

The only things that save this pic are the hair (Giada in Almond by Truth, with texture-change script for the headband) and yet another one of terri.tees' ROCKIN' T-shirts. This one's called Hooked and it's a free gift in Terri Wardell's store right now, along with two other hilarious tees in separate boxes.

"I'm hooked on sex!"
"And drugs!!!"

Chortle. I love that store, seriously. I've never met Terri -- she's like this T-shirt fairy who occasionally drops awesomeness in my inventory for possible review -- but if I ever do meet her, she will get glomped.

So yes, these days my face looks all horsey on my viewer and The Bunny isn't doing so well either:



Uh. Yep. I sleep with the lights on now.

OK so back to panic, because I'm really low on SL material at the moment, but OH SO RICH in RL adventures. I'll try to blend them though. *gets out the mixer*

That case of the Mean Reds eventually landed me in the office of an Executive Development Counselor. I'm pretty sure that title is a euphemism for "a shrink who deals with corporate working stiffs who are loony but not loony enough to get out of working altogether."

Apparently my company has a running ACCOUNT with the guy. Hey, presidents of companies across America, if your work environment is so damn stressful that you need to retain the ongoing services of a local shrink, maybe there's something wrong with your company. I mean, it's not like we're first responders or police officers or firefighters or heart surgeons. We're just PR flacks.

So, um, yeah, I got hooked up with a package deal of six sessions with Dr. Tell Me About Your Childhood. I've made it through two of them and I'm already having a really hard time keeping a straight face. He's pretty woo-woo, and not in a "Can you woo woo woooooooooo?" Jeffrey Osborne-kind of way. For instance, in just two appointments:

-- I've pretended to be hypnotized while I pretended to travel back in time and give my eight-year-old self a big hug. (She told me to screw off.)

-- I've tapped vigorously on my chest for what seemed like an hour to open up my heart chakra. (Ask me to show you my bruise.)

-- And, my all time favorite, I've collected ALL MY ANGER in my MOUTH and SPIT IT far out into the ocean.

Never mind that there's no ocean in Tennessee. We created an imaginary one.

"Do you have a problem imagining a place that only exists in your head, a place where you can always go to heal?" he asked.

(Dude, I'm currently paying RENT for some imaginary LAND so I can live in an imaginary HOUSE that only exists on my COMPUTER SCREEN, so I really don't think we're gonna have a problem with that one.)

I'm done spitting though. For all I know, he's filming me and that sh*t is gonna show up on YouTube any day now. Plus, I'm worried that he's gonna ask me to POOP out my anger next time. And possibly throw it at someone. Like a monkey. You think I'm joking, but I'm being dead serious.

There will be no more anger excretion. I'm putting my foot down.

In fact, I want a new shrink. Surely there must be some other "Corporate Development Counselor" out there. I want a kindly Jamaican grandmother-type instead, with reggae playing in the background instead of dolphins wailing in disgust because someone stuck them on a New Age CD.

Or a wise old karate master.

"Wax on, wax off. Mind clean, car clean, The End. You're fixed. Now get out there and bust some bricks with your bare hands."

STOP! Bad picture time!



That hair is the new Emme (in Almond) from Truth and I'm partial to it because that's a happy name. My SL friends call me Em or Emmy and it always makes me smile — in my case it makes my life seem not so, well, green. And NO, that's not why he gave it that name, but YES I'm totally diggin' it. I'm all about the sloppy sexy look.

You can change the ribbon color. And the only reason it's slicing through my shoulder is because I'm magic. (And too lazy to mod it.)

The Froggie shirt is another terri.tees creation (25L) and proves that Terri can do simple and charming just as well as she can do hilarious. The jeans are League's Garage Jeans in Turquoise. The skin is Alyson 7 by Belleza, cleavage option of course.

There's been a lot of talk about crediting the pose creators in blog posts lately, and I totally agree that we should do that. I'm not posing (no, reallly????), but that "hold on a sec while I brush my hair away from my face" move is courtesy of Trin Trevellion's Play AO at SINDecade. I love it so much, I will never ever ever give it up. Strangers always ask me where I got it. That's where, kiddies!

That sausage arm hanging down like a butcher-shop bargain is courtesy of Emerald Being an Idiot.

(LOOK! The bunny got camera-ready all of a sudden! So nice to see your furry face, Bunny!)

Finally, I feel like I need to address some recent and somewhat disturbing . . . SHOOT HERE COMES MY BOSS!!!