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Ahhh Summer.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

saitpwg 1a
Ahhh summer.  Lazing around, trying to look pretty in the heat … waiting for the summer romance, realizing that unless some wagon train got stuck in a time warp in the mountains, just broke free, and are heading to the prairies, that there is not a chance in hell of any new blood showing up.  Looking at the available farm boys  . . . begging to be allowed to go and visit some distant relative that lives anywhere NOT on the prairies.

saitpwg 4a
The poor city kids who visited their country cousins.  They didn’t stand a chance.
Fresh meat. 
More farm friendships get ruined because you hook up with your best friends city cousin who ends up being a schmuck.  Or the cousin reveals strange things about your girlfriend you never wanted to know and you can’t unhear those things.  Farm kids only survive if you leave them in their protective wrapping and never pierce the magic with reality.  

No matter how the city cousin or the friendship turns out –  you end up having to find a cow to pet.   You need a horse to ride out to the cow.  And that is your summer.  And you  actually miss school and wonder what the hell you were thinking getting all excited about summer holidays when it only ever means you have a 2 month grounding with your grandparents locked in the same room.  
I can tell you hell is real.
You even start looking at the church youth socials as the highlight of your summer.  You pray for a bible reading just for the youth.  You offer to teach one.
And then you go back to school in the fall and some fresh out of Uni teacher shows up and give you your first English assignment to write about what you did during the summer holidays.
Evidently “see the previous year” or “ditto” is not creative enough.  So I made up stuff.  I made up long involved stories of intrigue and romance involving other students and local farmers.   How else do you think Cheryl Bowden went from being a mousy nothing to being the most popular girl, THE one that everyone wanted to date, in just 3 months? 
It’s all about the magic of the written word.
saitpwg 3a
I actually think Harlequin Romances are probably written by middle school aged farm girls having to improvise regarding their summer holidays for that first English assignment in the fall.  
We had nowhere to heave our bosoms except on the literary pages of our English assignment with made up men with chiseled features.
That is what happens when you deprive teenagers of any substance for their sexual angst.  Harlequin Romance novels  …
Oh  . . . and crude etchings on bathroom stalls.
Some people can’t wait for the first English class in the fall, they lose it around mid-July.
SKIN:  .::WoW Skins:::. V2 Kimm Bronze
HAIR:  Magika[01] Take
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Enigmatic Green
LASHES:  Angel Rock Eyelash ADVANCED LASHES STANDARD with hud
NECKLACE:  Bens Beauty – Teyona Necklace Pack 3
TOP:  Foxes – Dolly Top – Sky
SHORTS:  Foxes – Dolly Shorts  – Fall
SHOES:  Ingenue :: Lacy Flats :: Lilac
PURSE:  +:+WTG+:+[MESH] **Flower-light** bag
LOCATION AND POSES:  CalasGaladhon Park Sims

A Whiter Shade of Pale

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

fusion 4a
Love white.
I think I started my love affair when people started telling me all the rules concerning it. 
You can’t wear white past Labour Day.
Never wear white to a wedding unless you are the bride.
Don’t wear white to a funeral.
For God’s sake change her into play clothes before she ruins her Sunday dress.
You have to wear a slip or something under white, what would happen if it got wet?
Don’t wear white if you are trying to look slimmer.
I like things other people pick on.  The heart wants what the heart wants.

fusion 2a
I also like that bunnies turn from brown into white during winter. 
I tried to convince my brother that bunnies had the ability to adapt and turn into whatever colour their environment was – it was evolution, survival.  I actually believed it.  Mainly because I think I was about 5 and heavy into the magical delusion of fairy tales portion of my life.
So I put a whole punch of pink all around the cages of his bunnies and told him to watch and see.
Nothing happened.
He made really cruel fun of me and told everyone who laughed and laughed.
I am sorry the bunnies died.  I did not know that pink paint was toxic.  I just wanted to protect him and keep his sense of child like wonder alive – the wonder that tells you all things are possible, magic does exist, and that I am never wrong.  The last bit being the most important.
There is nothing sadder than people all around me not knowing I am always right. 
Just because the bunnies died does not mean I was wrong.
I realized later I was experimenting on bunnies and they do not change during winter.  Wild Rabbits do.  I will finish my research when I go back to Canada and catch some wild rabbits and surround them with pink, and bomb them with positive messages that I believe in them, and they can do it.
If that does not work.  I have non toxic paint and a camera.
fusion 1a
I cannot leave this earth having provided my brother with even a hint that I might have been wrong.   I have to do this for his mortal soul. 
Because I really love him.
SKIN:  [theSkinnery] Quiana
HAIR:  *booN HUH031 hair black
HEAD PIECE:  AZOURY – Ashera Head Accessory
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Enigmatic Green
LASHES:  Angel Rock Eyelash ADVANCED LASHES STANDARD with hud
MAKE-UP:  –Errant– Bolly Makeup 1C (5 Pieces)
OUTFIT: SAS— SnowBitch White
SHOES:  ::HH:: HucciPleasantville Pump – Moonglow
POSES:  Cranky House

4 Eyes, Bug Eyes.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

foxy 1
I had to get glasses when I was in school.  I am not sure why.
I have a theory.  I think my grandparents wanted to make me look more intelligent than I really was.  People tend to overlook insanity when they think it is a by-product of intelligence.   They also frequently sent me to school with boxes of candy to share.  I think they hoped that I might be able to buy some friends.   Pfft forget that … I ate all the candy myself.
OK I did share them with a boy named Leonard … only because Leonard showed me this really cool hide out in an old garage down the road from my school and we would go there and hang out and arrange all the old files and tools that were left in there.   Look, don’t judge me for my childhood.  It was the most fun ever and yes I am a bit OCD, why do you ask?  When you share that kind of bond with someone, you share your candy.

I am suspicious about the glasses because I actually could see all the way to Saskatchewan and beyond.  Even in the fog.  The doctor said I had perfect vision but I did really have difficult with light.   All those years of hiding under my bed in the dark, or being locked in the closet, probably caused the damage.  Can’t be sure, just guessing.
So I got one of the first pairs of the new super duper photo sensitive glasses.  They turned darker as the light got brighter and lightened up if  the light was less intent.  I should have been more appreciative of my super power glasses but I wasn’t.   Maybe if they had really committed to the whole thing and bought me a costume to go along with it, I could have been.  Instead, the teachers screamed at me for wearing sunglasses in class.  Then I would have to force the teacher into a dark closet with me and show her that they turned light again and they were super powered glasses. 
Some of those teachers were really scary.
Teachers don’t believe anything they were not taught or have not experienced.  Some of them don’t even pay attention to their own experiences.   You must exercise extreme  caution when offering something they have not heard of before.  It could result in extra homework or worse.
The first day I got my glasses my grandparents made me wear them to a ball game my brother was pitching at. Girls were not allowed to play community ball – we were supposed to be learning how to make quilts for the needy.  The needy are people who are not you or anyone you know who evidently are so poor that while they starve to death and feel like crap because they have no work, no clothes, no house, etc …wish most just for an ugly quilt sewn from someone else’s old rags.  I am not judging anyone.  I am just saying if someone gave me a blanket as a gift and were all smiley and acting benevolent about it, I would have been really pissed.
I remember I had to wear a scarf tied in my hair, a yellow sweater and brown pants.  I had to because they matched my glasses .. which were .. wait for it … brown.   My grandmother herded me around the stands of the ball diamond like I was a prize goat that had just been shampooed and blown dry.  The adults “oohed” and “aww’d” and the kids started in on the whole “4 eyes,”  “bug eyes,” etc.  It was an epic outing.   
I wore my glasses I think a total of  3 hours and 27 minutes before I learned about the magic of assumptions and the power of never intruding on anyone’s assumptions.  They are happy, you are happy  … it is magical if you can just tip toe out of there and not disturb a thing.  I found out if I left my glasses in the case at the bottom of my school bag and just took them back and forth every day, everyone smiled and carried on.   
I guess they were kind of an expensive special rock/talisman my grandparents bought for me.  Carried them for years, sold them in a garage sale.  “Hardly used, magic sunglasses.”  Got $ 5.00.
Winner!!!
Oh … I am blind now.  My dog doesn’t even blink in the sunlight.
SKIN:  .::WoW Skins::. Charlize
HANDS and FEET:  SLink
HAIR:  [ Love Soul] Hair*087*White Blonde
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Enigmatic Green
LASHES:  Angel Rock Eyelash ADVANCED LASHES STANDARD with hud
GLASSES:  .tsg. Shy Megane – Gold
NECKLACE:  (Kunglers Extra) Ashanti – Silver
HAIRBAND:  KITJA CHERIE – Luna Headband
SKIRT:  NYU – Floral Blouse & Skirt
SHOES:  ieQEDskuld.stud.flat.brown
POSES:  Cranky House

Locked Out of Life

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

blew it 1
What was the big deal about staying in a hotel when you went into the city and partied all night.  Anyone make it back to the actual room they rented?  Anyone?
Anyone make it to any room in that hotel?? 
I didn’t think so.

blew it 2
We might as well have thrown the money out the window as we drove to wherever we were going.
And then there is all the awks of waking and not having any clue where you are or who the bearded lady is that you are with.
OK that never happened to me but I have a license for literature that allows me to do all kinds of tricks and illusions.   Sometimes I get writing and get so carried away with the interesting person I am making up I forget that it is all about me.   You can’t just delete genius.  Sometimes you have to go with it and tell yourself, I can carry off magical princess.  I know I can.
And you put on your sparkly stretch pants and prance more.
Prancing confuses people.  You have to be someone to prance and people are afraid to ask you because what if they are the only people who don’t know.   Always encourage people “don’t knowing.”  It’s magical.
blew it 3
I did lock my brother out of the hotel room once.  My grandfather had to hose him down he was crying so bad.  Turns out he has serious abandonment issues.  I tried to tell him he should get over it.  They left the wrong basket in the forest when we were babies.  It was meant to be me, but even back then he couldn’t help wearing my dresses.  We were both bald. 
Anyone could have made the same mistake.
SKIN:  –Belleza– Emily Makeup 9
HANDS and FEET:  SLink
HAIR:  Blues. Crystal – Essentials
HAIRBAND FLOWERS:  [ glow ] studio – Sepia Flowers hairband
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Enigmatic Green
LASHES:  Angel Rock Eyelash ADVANCED LASHES STANDARD with hud
EYESHADOW:  ZibskaSkin Fair 2015 Milli Eyeshadow Gift Pack
TEETH:  **SHINE** Prim Teeth Human PACK
NAILS:  Hello Dave: Slink Avatar Enhancement- Rich Tones Mixed 1
GOWN:  LushByCoCo: Unwrapped (SCUBA)
JEWELLERY:  [Fetch] Caroline Jewelry Set
SHOES:  {AnaMarkova}Venezia Heels Cerulean
POSES:  Cranky House

It Really Is A Miracle I Am Here to Tell The Tale.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

white sands 2
10 speed bikes were a big deal for us.  Prior to that we had bikes like the old 50’s and 60’s movies.  That is because we grew up in the 50’s and 60’s.
I never wanted a girls bike … those were for girls.
I knew how to lift my leg over a bar.  I had skills.

white sands 1
We used jar rings to hold our pant legs in so they would not get caught in the chain.   Bell bottoms were big and bike gear … come on … we were fighting to be able to wear a two piece to the beach.  We knew we had bodies and were anxious to use them but our parents were still pretending clothes were only effective if they removed any curiosity about what was underneath.  They took pride in converting tents into dresses.  They had a meeting of all the parents in the whole world and they all agreed to pretend there was no such thing as sex.
It was a big waste of time, a circus tent, and homemade cookies.  We all knew our parents weren’t having sex because they already had two kids.  There was simply no point anymore.
You would think someone would have cottoned on to the idea of faking that they were having difficulty and saying they needed to stay after school for extra practice.  But no … most of them were pregnant prior to the wedding.  Keeners. 
That is why so many of those old wedding pictures has a stern guy standing off to the side with his hands behind his back.  Guess which hand has the shotgun?
Preventing pregnancy might have allowed them to actually have sex 3 or 4 times before retiring to complete denial and a life of dressing in the dark.
I did not get skimpy bike gear.  I had to settle on looking cool and carrying off a jar ring with attitude.  I rode my bike to school – which was miles and miles down the highway from us.  I passed the other kids on their horses and laughed hysterically at them and called them “old timers.”  OK that didn’t really happen but I imagined it would . . . if I could.   20 miles is a bit much to do … maybe for a rock concert .. but school?   Get real.
Plus the 3 days of the year that it was nice enough to ride a bike without snow .. usually happened during summer holidays.
A 10 speed bike was such a symbol of independence.  Once I made it the 2.5 miles over the dirt roads to the highway … it was magic.  I had to walk the bike that distance because neither the seat nor I had enough padding to endure the corrugated gravel roads and the gears would never have survived the damage from the flying rocks and gophers.  Then I would be on the highway, pavement beneath my feet,  road stretching for miles either way .. .   I would get on and begin to gear up until I was speeding along, wind rushing through my hair, bugs caught in my teeth  . . . and I would be able to go . . . to 4 or 5 wheat fields down the road. 
What a rush.
I could have gone all the way to Saskatchewan … but I didn’t.
I would turn the bike around and ride back to my own wheat field, and smile, knowing the wheat and I shared a secret, that I had been beyond our fence and traveled to worlds unknown, beyond the barb wire and the irrigation canal.  I was a world traveler, and not even the prairies could keep me from flying free.   And then I would walk the bike back another 2.5 miles home, not even caring if a rabid skunk attacked me from the ditch.
white sands 3
I never understood how I managed to do that day after day and my parents never caught on, never worried about me, never came searching.   If they only knew how I was living my life, my precious youth, on the knife’s edge of adventure.
You are lucky I survived to be able to be here to type about it.
SKIN:  MUNDOS {BL} Demi Skin_Latte_Smokey/Pure
HANDS and FEET:  SLink
HAIR:  little bones. Feline
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Enigmatic Green
LASHES:  Angel Rock Eyelash ADVANCED LASHES STANDARD with hud

PURSE:  Indy&Co.: Marina Tote: White

OUTFIT and EARRINGS:  {Indyra} Philosophy
SHOES:  *YSandYS* Latina Shiny Cream
LOCATION:  Crossing Currents

Sunrise. Sunset. Help Me Make It Through The Night.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

Sunset 1
I got talked into having this older couple sing at our wedding.  They were significant to my husband.
They were going to sing “Sunrise, Sunset” From Fiddler on the Roof.
The wedding went fine, apart from the flower girl who was doing a mean interpretation of the future in which a half naked woman wearing cones on her breasts and her underpants over her other clothes would prance around a stage in front of millions, “Vogue-ing.”  When I whispered to her during the ceremony, asking what she was doing, she informed me she was “being a tree.”   Her mother told her she need to stand tall and straight and quiet like a tree.  Being a creative child she was channeling a tree except one in a violent windstorm with a fierce strobe light back lighting everything.   

Sunset 3
We managed to get to the part where we broke to go over to do the registry.   We signed everything, finished the pictures and stood to listen to the song .  The couple stood up by the grand piano and I think the woman got out “could this be the little …..” before she broke down sobbing hysterically, leaning over on the piano, forgetting that a mic right next to your mouth sometimes makes this annoying  sound that shatters tupperware.   Cheerios and grapes went flying everywhere  – we had a lot of children whose parents came prepared with things to stuff in their mouths if they got too loud.  It was like a peanut scramble only with cheerios and grapes and kids in crinolines and grandparents who suddenly jumped to life to grab the kids and/or the escaped food, apparently hungry and in need of a distraction from the boring wedding and the sobbing woman at the piano.
I lost one of the bridesmaids  to a cheerio.  We last saw her diving under one of the pews and she never resurfaced.
The woman cried and the man carried on.  Having the entire song sung with just his harmony part was quite a treat.  I liked how professional they all were – the pianist and the man … having the show go on … no matter how loudly the woman wailed.   I am not sure why it did not occur to her to turn her mic off, and sit her butt down but no … she stayed right up there, through the whole song, sobbing, and then trying to sing a few more words … and then losing it again.  And those two men just kept right on going.  Lesser professionals might have also sat down quietly, taking the woman with them …
Was it wrong that I prayed for lesser men during my own wedding?
I was going to give my husband back … really.  I mean I loved him and all but I don’t think my love could hold a candle to what she was expressing.   
My husband wouldn’t let me.
And then there is that whole thing about an undeniable sign from God.
Meanwhile tree girl was doing her stilted ballet and had moved to front and centre, her flower basket winging up over her head, the flowers falling out, complete with the green waterey florist goop that kept the flowers fresh.  Her hair took on this sort of diarrhoea greeny grey streaks that glowed and the minister jumped to try and protect the polished wood floors from ruin.  The mother rushed up to retrieve the” tree” and stepped on an escaped grape and slid forward before flying face first towards the feet of the minister and the tree girl.  Perfect tackle.  All of them on the floor, covered in baby rosebuds, baby’s breath, cheerieos, grapes and green goopey pond scum florist crap.  Meanwhile the man was also becoming emotional and the song ended with the pianist bringing it home with a moving crescendo with both soloists sobbing hysterically, and the bodies up front trying to disengage one another.  My husband’s hand was turning blue as all circulation had ceased due to my hand pretending it was his neck and I was choking him .
What I love most about weddings is how everyone smiles and pretends it was lovely and everyone kisses.  No-one talked about the dead tree, the woman who left a mascara slick from the piano all the way down the aisle and out to the parking lot, or the damaged chapel that looked like a bomb had gone off.   Everyone smiled and said it was sweet I was crying … Love does that too you and I was  just overly emotional on my special day.  When I managed to choke out a few words .. “tree … Cheerios …. Ruined …. Mommmmmmy ,….. People patted at my cheeks and said, no, no,  it was fine, no-one noticed a thing.”
Sunset 2
I have the wedding pics.  They were all noticing.
I hate my family.
I hate trees
And I absolutely hate that song … whatever it was …
SKINS:  .::WoW Skins:::: V2 Enya Bronze
HAIR:  CATWAFLEXI Savannah [5]
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Enigmatic Green
LASHES:  Angel Rock Eyelash ADVANCED LASHES STANDARD with hud
MAKE-UP:  NOX. Flight Shadow [Neutrals]
NAILS:  [Bamboo] Nails – Spring Orange
JEWELLERY:  *ByKay* ~ Aizza (Set)
DRESSES:  SAS– Sunset
SHOES:  Ever An’ Angel Doodle Smexy Pumps- Teal

Soul Music.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

play it again sam 2
In one of the older churches there was this really cool old pump organ that you played by moving your feet in a pedalling motion using your feet.  We snuck in every chance we got and fought over who got to play it.  We became experts at speed playing because we have about 9.5 seconds before an adult would appear and bellow  “WHAT DO YOU KIDS THINK YOU ARE DOING?”

play it again sam 1
Not sure why parents always wanted to know that.  Did we look like we didn’t know what we were doing?  Just because we were doing something that meant we were going to hell … let me be clear .. We KNEW what we were doing.  In this instance, we were playing the church organ that we had been told to leave alone a thousand times.
As a kid, being able to pull different buttons and play a song on the pump organ was awe inspiring.   Not for anyone listening to me, but in my own mind.
I think it was one of the key moments in the creating of a legend.
I taught myself to play it.
Back then, my aspirations were to be able to play a hymn for a church service.  I was heady with the whole idea of the power of that moment.  Yes , on the prairies, being able to play a church organ got you lots of props.  I owned that whole church when I played that thing.  I rocked it.  Well, as much as anyone could rock “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” when we had never even seen a soul brother or sister who taught the world how to rock hymns.   I did it in a plaid, white bread, red neck kind of way.  If cowboys and farmers shuffle their feet at all or even sway a tad .. THAT is OUR rhythm.
It was one of those experiences that was epic when I was planning it, but the carrying out of it in reality was deeply disappointing … and kind of disturbing.
The music director held up her hands, she nodded her head and I began to play and I could hear the people behind me begin to sing.
I use the term “sing” very loosely.
I have a personal relationship with God.  I know he is tone deaf.  I also know he loves people in spite of the fact they make dogs howl.
Friends should not let friends sing when they are nowhere even close to being completely off key.  I am not sure there were any keys in some of those people lives, let alone around them for the song.  I am not even sure they were singing the same song I was playing.    The singing was even worse than elementary kids doing “Row Row Row Your Boat” on their recorders or their band playing “There’s a Hole Iin The Bucket.”
By the second verse I was crying.  My grandparents were never more proud of me.  Imagine a child so moved by the music that she was weeping.  If there had been You Tube, someone would have had me viral in no time.  I had to settle for being the talk of the combine shop for a week.
Our kids will grow up and look back on their lives and talk about how they were worshipped by the whole world for 15 minutes when they flashed their naked naughty bits or ate a live frog on a dare, or jumped off a mountain with a pillow case and lived to tell the tale, or wrote words on a piece of paper saying they were bullied.   Our kids will have amazing stories complete with technology and evidence to showcase the whole event.  They will be filtered and gauzed and look good. 
I have a lame story about playing a pump organ and crying on the prairies of Canada for a bunch of old people who couldn’t sing.  I have tried to jazz it up with puppets and nifty refreshments.
Some things cannot be jazzed or niftied.
play it again sam 3
I think there is a reason young people look at old people and think they are weenies.
I am pretty convinced I am a weenie myself.
SKIN:  Style by Kira– Lulu Skin
FEET:  SLink
HAIR:  AD  — li – light reds
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Enigmatic Green
LASHES:  Angel Rock Eyelash ADVANCED LASHES STANDARD with hud
MOLE AND BLUSH:  [ MUDSKIN]_Ria ~ Shiny Shabby3_India
JEWELLERY:  (Kunglers Extra) Nightbloom – Golden
NAILS:   [Bamboo] Nails   – Darker Start.
DRESS:  . K E L I N I . Casual chic Mesh Dress “AMORE” Gold  Wayward Hunt
BOOTS:  Glamistry– NEMESIA AnkleBoots [PF1010]PURSE:  MULIER x 1992// Obsidian Bag (Plain) – WAYWARD HUNT Exclusive!
POSES:  SLOUCH
  

If The Suitcase Fits.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

ready to go
My brother and I had a bet about whether or not a person could fit in a suitcase.  I told him there was absolutely no way.
I called him a liar.  I told his friends and we all laughed at him. 

ready to go 2
So of course he got out a suitcase and insisted that a person could fit in a suitcase and I promptly ignored him.   He kept trying to get me to look while he unzipped the suitcase and stepped in and started to fold himself up.
I kept ignoring him, not saying a word.
I heard a long zip and then a muffled voice laughing hysterically and saying he “told me so.”  I walked over, flipped the little latch to lock the zipper and stood back.  He grew tired of crowing, and I imagine a little cramped, and started to try to unzip the suitcase.
Then the suitcase fell over and then there was more screaming and he was begging me to help him.  I tried to pull on the zipper, it would not give.  I told him it might be stuck and I was sorry but I had to go.  
The Brady Bunch was on!!
He did manage to get out. 
He pushed the suitcase under the bed and quickly came down to supper, glaring at me.  
After supper there was this sort of wounded bull bellow from Grandpa’s bedroom and we were summoned.  He was pointing to his ripped open, ruined favourite suitcase with the broken zipper that was strangely wet and smelling of urine.  He demanded to know who had done such a thing.
My brother pointed at me and said he had tried to talk me out of it but I had insisted and then I would not wait for him to get help to get me out and I ripped it.  He stood there with such a smug look on his face, triumphant.  He had won in soooo many ways.
I smiled back.
It seemed the polite thing to do.
And then I smiled at my grandfather and pointed at my brother’s face . . .  and his arm.  Then I lifted up his pant leg to show his calf where he had these strange tracks . . .  kind of like a zipper . . . all neat and pressed into his skin, scraped in some places, and even bleeding a little.
I put o n my puppy dog sad eyes, wiped a little tear and shook my head from the profound sadness that filled the room as we all realized that my brother was a bad bad boy AND a liar.  The pain was almost too much.
ready to go 3
I stepped out of the way so Grandpa had room to get his belt off.
Sometimes one really has to consider the cost of being right.  Is it really worth it? 
I often wonder if my brother ever reflects back on his life, grateful for all the life lessons I taught him.  I fear he might not, even the wiser, older version of him.  It is tough to be so brilliant, even as a young child.  You just are never fully appreciated by your own family. 
SKIN:  Essences:Alice Yuki *medium01*
HAIR:  AD  – ring – light blondes
HAIR FLOWER:  Dashwood– “ROSE”  Red Formal/Wedding Gown
EYES:  Egozy.Eyes Enigmatic   dark brown
LASHES:  Angel Rock Eyelash ADVANCED LASHES STANDARD with hud
MAKE-UP:  [MyDear]Hygeia Lipstick 24
                    #adored  – last night – smoke pack
NECKLACE:  PIDIDDLE– Lost Princess Necklace
NAILS:  Candy Nail#P000 Basic Prim Nails Red08
LEGGINGS:  :AC: Lace Back Seam[Marshmallow]
DRESS:  ::FAC:: Zoey Tunic Dress Red
SHOES:  Ingenue :: Audrei :: Candy Apple (l)
POSES:  PoSEioN
SUITCASE:  {vespertine– machinarium suitcase/dots}
  

Solitary Confinement.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

flying 3
The light burned out in my closet while my hubby was away  and for two weeks I kept walking into the closet and flipping the switch and experiencing disappointment over and over again.
I didn’t plan on being insane.
It just sort of crept up on me.

flying 1
I couldn’t find my panties in the dark.  I thought I had but it ended up being a kite that one of the grand kids had shoved in between the two dressers. 
I tried taking a flashlight in and that promptly died and then, along with there being no extra light bulbs, there were no batteries.  All of the people who had offered to drive me anywhere if I needed a kidney or a lung transplant, moved or blocked my calls.  I could have taken a taxi but  I had made a commitment to be absolutely alone, no human contact for 2 weeks.  I believe everyone should prepare themselves for solitary confinement just in case, especially as you get older, you have less patience, and you start to fantasize in great detail about who you would want to kill and how you would go about it.  
My hubby said I would never last in solitary confinement.  He said I would crack in no time.  He was very smug about it, that kind of smug that says he would ace it and I would be a whiny baby.  Although I desperately wanted to get dressed, I was more motivated by not wanting to give my husband the satisfaction of being right.
Besides, I had mileage on his not having light bulbs or batteries in supply.
When you have been married awhile that kind of ammunition is gold.
I varied my daily routine between forgetting clothes and looking like a clown.  The clown had to answer the door when the delivery man showed up.  The naked person was caught last minute at the door before going out to put the garbage cans out and reminded that while clowns might get laughed at, naked people get arrested. 
I tried a candle.  Matches were mildewed.  Besides, with my luck, my favourite dress would have caught fire and I would panic and forget the number here for emergency.  I do that when I am stressed or in emergency situations,  I pull on a moose knitted sweater and a toque and revert to complete Canadian and all my Australian training goes right out the window. 
And for some reason I kept walking into the closet and flipping the switch.  I knew it was broken.  I knew I was naked or dressed like a clown, and yet I tried every time.  And every time I had this momentary WTF space before feeling profoundly disappointed.
And the feelings grew.
And I found myself standing, head against the wall, flipping the switch on – off, on – off, on – off.  And then I started singing this sort of guttural chant in gibberish and made up words and I was dancing around the room, and on the bed and making faces at myself in the mirror and jumping  . . . And before I knew it 2 weeks had come and gone and I twirled around and came face to face with my husband, who had arrived home, suitcase in tow looking at me like I had completely lost the plot.
I hadn’t.  The plot was in the closet  . . . somewhere . . . 
Without skipping a beat I pointed to the light bulb, pulled on my clown outfit, and started in on him about how I had almost died, risking my life every day to go in and out of that dark closet, not knowing if there was a murderer hiding in there, or a big spider.  I could have died and all because he didn’t love me anymore because if he did he would have made sure I had enough light bulbs and not left me without batteries or matches either.  And I started snobbing and blowing bubbles out my nose and saying I wasn’t pretty anymore and he never really loved me and how he probably didn’t even miss me or think of me once . . . .
He dropped his suitcase to the floor, opened it up and pulled out a pretty bracelet he had bought me.
flying 2
And suddenly the world came back into focus and my mind calmed and all was forgiven.
“I told you I could ace the solitary thing.”
“Absolutely,” he nodded.  “You do know you can’t be naked in jail, nor do they allow clowns.  But other than that, you nailed it.  I have never been more proud.”
You know, having time away from each other is like magic for relationships.  This is the stuff romance novels are made of. 
My bracelet sparkles.
SKIN:  .::WoW Skins::. V2 Susse Darktan
HAIR:  AD  – dive dark  (PS enhanced)
EYES:  Egozy.Eyes Enigmatic   dark brown
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GOWN:  SAS – Jesa White
POSES:  PoSEioN
  

The Horned Beast.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

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There was a lady who went to our church who had a kind of horn thing growing out of her head.  I can’t be sure because we were not supposed to stare at her.
You don’t stare at people because it is rude.  In church you don’t stare because it is rude and unkind and Jesus would never stare.   We were supposed to always ask ourselves, “What would Jesus do?”   Of course he wouldn’t stare.  He designed her AND he can see everything.  He knew darn well what she looked like.
I had no clue because every time my eyeballs even looked like they were thinking of scanning anywhere near her direction, I was smacked on the back of the head.  I am lucky I even have any eyeballs left. 

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The thing on her forehead might have been a hat and she forgot to bedazzle it, or she was out of plastic flowers. If they had let me really look, I would have known, and moved on to trying to figure out what the big black thing with hairs coming out of it was on the minister’s wife face and why she insisted on lipsticking over it.  Maybe the lipstick just smudged there but there is a reason that you can’t find fire engine red concealer.
It might have been part of a dead cow head that she was wearing as part of her heritage and she believed it would ward of evil spirits.  I had read about things like that.  If that was what it was, it really worked.  I never saw a single evil spirit around her.
One day she was my substitute Sunday School teacher and my grandmother, knowing my penchant for needing to know things, and having to ask a million questions, “reminded” me I was not to stare at her.  She said Jesus would not do it. 
Jesus didn’t do anything fun and we were always reminded about it.  It was supposed to make us work harder.  It might have succeeded if any of us wanted to be miserable and sitting on our own over in the corner while everyone was having a riot doing things they were not supposed to be doing.  They should have said, “What would Marcia Brady do?”  or The Lone Ranger or Nancy Drew … or even Davy Jones .  It would have been helpful to have our role model be someone social relevant to our little pointed minds.
So I went to class and I ended up breaking my leg.
Trying to be like Jesus.
I found the only way I could keep my mouth shut and not ask questions about her horn was to not look at her and the only way I could keep from looking at her and therefore pleasing Jesus even more by not staring, was to close my eyes.  So I did.  And when she asked me to hand out pens and papers to everyone, I stood up and took a step into her purse and trying to step with that weight on my leg, I lost my balance.  I feel into the horned lady who fell on  the end of the table, which flipped up in the air taking three of the kids who were leaning forward resting their heads in their hands which were supported by their elbows on the table, and their chairs followed their bums into the air and then flipped them so they performed this synchronized movement in the air where they all shared the same pathway all jumbled together,  and landed on top of me.  Because I had one leg forward and the other caught in the purse (which by the way had to contain 3 bags full of wheat or dried cement because it did not move) and my head and arms were tangled in the horned ladies skirt, my one leg was extended and exposed – the only clear landing space for the tumbling fellow Jesus emulating children.  They and their chairs all landed with a solid thud that muffled my screams which included religious references and the F word.   Of course I knew I was in trouble.  Jesus would never use any of those words.
 My leg was crushed.
The purse had not moved an inch.
I was pretty sure I could see Jesus standing over in the corner, arms folded, shaking his head in disappointment.  I didn’t see anyone else arrive at church that day wearing a white sheet and sandals.
It must have been quite the scene.  My grandmother rushed the room screaming my name, knowing instinctively before she even saw what had happened, that somehow it had to be my fault.
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Jesus probably told on me.
I would just like to point out it might have been much easier to stare and ask questions.
Oh and also, ” stare stare like a bear .. don’t forget your underwear  . . . ”  Let’s discuss.
I neither stared, nor forgot my underwear.
I acted like Jesus.
I fled temptation.
And I was almost killed.

Don’t ask me why I don’t go to church anymore.  Some childhood trauma’s are just to difficult to talk about.
SKIN:  .Birdy.Brooke skin ~Pure~ (Sunshine) VIP gift
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HAIR:  AD– manhattan dark
EYES:  Egozy.Eyes Enigmatic   dark brown
LASHES:  Angel Rock Eyelash ADVANCED LASHES STANDARD with hud
MAKE-UP:  #adored– last night – smoke pack
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OUTFIT Earrings AND PURSE:  {Indyra} Heist
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