A Second Life® Fashion Feed

Balancing the Scales of Life.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

with all your heart 1
I showed up at the local swap meet with my hubby and kids and asked where I could set up my booth.
I had good spot, it would get lots of traffic and with the right visual aids, I was thinking, we could really cash in and make some of our long overdue dreams come true.  I think it is so important for families to have projects that they work on together.
Hubby helped me get everything set up and when we were done we had the kids line up, each with their own unique sign.  We urged them to do their best. They were really going to have to sell sell sell. We told them we loved them and knew they could do it.  I gave them some stickers with catchy phrases and the website addy for motivational and inspirational posters.

with all your heart 2
We managed to get a good deal for the two younger ones but had to take the teenager home with us again.   I don’t think he totally grasps the need to appear durable when people take him for a trial run.  There is a church swap meet next weekend and those people tend to have completely unrealistic expectations for their own abilities.  Like most of them don’t realize it was Jesus who did the miracles, not the ordinary church members.  And besides, changing water into wine is one thing, transforming teenagers is even beyond Chris Angel.  
I think children swap meets should be held, just specializing in swapping kids. I mean when your kids roll their eyes and tell you that you are the worst parents ever and they hate you it can be tough to be as welcoming as you were that first day after 10 months of throwing up, ballooning to the size of the Good Year Blimp, the 3 days of labour, all that morphine.  Let’s face it, a bag of dried prunes would have seemed “enchanting” at that point.  But after years of them taking over your life, holding your sanity prisoner, and relentless demands, that changes.   Once they are burning down the house and draining the bank account and you have the “experts” telling you to just cuddle them more and that grounding them is against their constitutional rights … I think it is time to trade them in and try with a different model. 
You might want to even consider a hamster, instead.
I am tired of hearing the kids profess their love for someone else’s parents as in “Mary’s parents never make her,” or “why can’t you be more like George and Shirley (his best friends parents who even let their own children call them by their first name) they are wayyy more down with us .” These are all universal signs for “Your work is clearly done, you failed and they hate you.”  Frankly, it is hard to feel like cuddling when you are wallking to work at 3 Am because they stole the car and hocked grandmas jewellery and took off to spend the week at some theme park .
with all your heart 3
Which is all the police could tell you under the privacy act, confirming they were ok, had indeed left the state, and were having a good time at Disneyland.
I never got to go to Disneyland.
I am swapping my parents at next weekend’s swap meet.  I don’t even care that they are dead.  The hurt is that deep, and I am sure someone on Pinterest has some rad ideas for ways to make over slightly used coffins.

SKIN:  Glam Affair – Katra and Summerv3 – FLF

TEETH:  **SHINE** Prim Teeth
HAIR:  >TRUTH< Trinity –  dark browns
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Intense Collection
LASHES:  ATIA’s Whisper Lashes
EARRINGS:  ~Shiny Stuffs~ BlueYellow feather
POSES:  Tuty

A Disciplined Life.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

I was talking to my children one day about punishment and they asked me how come only children have the naughty chair and are made to sit over in a corner.  They pointed out that grandma misbehaves sometimes.  I told them that it was because you have to sit one minute for every year of their age so a 4 year old sits 4  minutes – a 7 year old 7 minutes.  I suggested that if they made grandma sit in the corner for her age she could be gone for days and then I said that some older people probably died while they were sitting on the naughty chair and went undiscovered for days.   THIS was why children should learn their lessons while they were young.
I caught them the next day examining some stains on their “naughty chair” on account of it was a hand me down.   They wanted to know what kind of stains dead people make.

I think the whole premise of sitting on a naughty chair and that the time should be 1 minute for each year of your age, is ridiculous actually.  I would just like to say that sitting there for almost an hour just gives me a chance to come up with even better plans so ya,  Super Nanny/mind controller …. sit on that one. 
There was really no reason to focus on that day and the disinformation I had given, as sticking out as anything special beyond any of the other days I had done the same.  I missed the classed on parenting where they tell you everything so that you know everything so when your kids ask you can give them answers.  I just made it up as I went along. 
Hey everyone survived their childhood … Not the least of which … was me. 
My kids grew up  and one of them went on to do projects for their work like studies into the “Modalities of Disciplining Children and Possible Harmful Outcomes.”   Shortly after her big presentation,  I woke to a mob outside my house with picket signs screaming stuff about “elder abuse” and demanding that I free Grandma or let someone in to check on her and make sure she was alright.   
No way was I going to let some stranger in my house when at least 3 of my doilies needed rearranging.  I had to scream out at them that grandma was dead!!
First there was silence, then people started crying and leaving flowers for her and the police were called.
I was charged with grandmacide and hauled away.  No-one seemed to hear me say she died 12 years ago and we never even had naughty chairs when I grew up – we had big black belts and hands … lots and lots of slappy hands.  I tried to show them the scars and tell them I was a victim and all they could do was cry for my grandma.   I tired to explain I was using creative license to strike fear into my children being as we were not allowed to do anything but try to buy their good behaviour with toys and gifts and promises of trips to Disneyland,  and I was all out of money.  I said I did it for the health and safety of the world. 
Have you ever noticed that the world is incredibly ungrateful and seldom ever thanks us for our sacrifice?
I was so flustered and confused that when I got to make my one phone call, I called the emergency number, except I am in Australia and I called the Canadian number.  The RCMP told me they were snowed in, but even if they weren’t, they would not be able to make it.  They are not allowed to  take their horses on planes and they can’t swim.
Those police were also raised by parents reduced to using “time out’s” to try and get kids to stop lighting fire bombs and joyriding in stolen cars.  They only joined because they liked guns and could put their knowledge of how to steal cars to good use.  They only joined the police force because all the other careers required that they finished Jr. High.
OK I lied about calling the RCMP.   I am just doing my best to perpetuate stereotypes and put false  information out there as apparently I rock at it.  I motivated an entire mob to want to kill me!!  I am waiting on the naughty chair for my kids to come and get me.  I am expecting a long lecture on “this is what you get for embellishing the truth,” and a whole book on, “the damage done to children when you mess with their minds. ” 
Parents get blamed for everything.
No wait … people wept for grandma.   I get blamed for everything.
SKIN:  .::WoW Skins::. V2 LARA
HAIR:  .:EMO-tions:. * SHELLY * B+W-pack
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Intense Collection
LASHES:  ATIA’s Whisper Lashes
DRESS:  The Secret Store – Carolina Ruffle Dress – Chocolate
SHOES: SHEYSweet Bow Stilettos
JEWELLERY:  [MANDALA]Pearl-Rain-Season3 CHOKER set  (PINK)
POSES:  Tuty

The Mighty Jump Suit

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

Ok jump suits, great idea!  You put them on, they look great.  No need to worry about anything needed to be tucked or retucked.  Long clean lines.  Boyfriend is like “wow.”
One small problem.
Doing anything other than standing there looking fantastic.

See, when the blouse and the pants are applied and the body stretches, they can move further up or down on your body allowing the middle part, while perhaps bared, to accordion out and give you more length.  The point is, “No-one DIES!”  
I realize that we girls do not have the same genital sensitivities that men do but that does not mean we are completely “ouchy” free.  The main culprit is when you are in a onesie  and the material does not accordian/stretch/pull apart/give in any way.  That means that the strongest point – the seam that is in your crotch, pulls up and becomes like a single narrow band of steel, now trying to meet your belly button, accessing it through your fragile nether parts. 
So you don’t sit, or reach for anything, of lift your arms at all … even sipping wine can be painful if you are not careful and depending on the structure of the garment.
Forget going to the bathroom, unless you have room to pray and make burnt offerings, completely undress, hang it up, pee, and redress without anyone being the wiser.  If you skip the praying part you are pretty much guaranteed that will be the exact moment the cops raid the place, a fire breaks out, the lock on your stall or the door fails, and your worst enemy or the one guy you would give anything to date, will suddenly be in there with you, admiring you in all your splendiforous glory.   That is … NUDE splendiforous glory  … assuming your splendiforous IS glorious.
And then if you happen to meet the guy of your dreams and he is kissing you and  you want to sit down, or maybe even are open to a little more attention …. one of two things will happen.   You either end up completely naked to accommodate the little more attention and suddenly your name is under the “slut” section of the bathroom reading wall, cross referenced with the nympho section…. OR the paramedics have to be called in.  When they have to bring in the jaws of life to cut your new boy toy free because he tried to be intimate but his parts got stuck in your jump suit and now his arm may have to be amputated because you both stood up at the same time and then someone twisted and there was no going back, and now his arm has been without any blood supply for far too long . . . it can be a real relationship killer.  I don’t know of any relationships that started with one of the partners making the other handicapped, that has survived past .,. mmm … the restraining order.
Which kind of leads you to the elephant question in the room . . . Why the heck would anyone call it a “jump” suit being as no-one jumps in it and lives?  
Would that be a definition of “cruelty,”  “irony,” or “insanity?”
I would put up my hand to answer but I am wearing a jump suit and my nether parts are still in a cast from the last time I wore this thing.
SKIN:   .:WoW Skins::. V2 Masha
HAIR:  “”D!va””Hair “Tessa” (Cat’s eye)
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Intense Collection
LASHES:  ATIA’s Whisper Lashes
OUTFIT:  –David Heather-Palazzo Jumpsuit/Lavender
COLLAR:  {Indyra} Blackened Rose Bolero: Color Change

JEWELLERY:  (Yummy) Gold &  White Pearl Set

POSES:  Tuty

A Perfect Field Flower.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

One of the big adjustments to coming to Australia has been to understand the whole racing/gambling culture.   In addition to it being a big part of their life, the costuming that goes along with the activities is highly entertaining.  Perhaps the only day people dress up fancier than for their own wedding, is race day.
I love all the permeations of “fashion” that show up.  Unlike some women who feel the need to hand out permission slips for what others are allowed to wear, I love seeing women wear whatever they choose, regardless of what society deems appropriate for their body type – especially younger women.  If you are not allowed to celebrate your sense of self as a teenager – when exactly does that kick in?  I don’t care if they are too heavy, too thin, not enough breast, not enough class, etc etc to wear THAT dress.  I say go for it.

I do love the whole hat, fascinator thing and what some of them come up with.   It reminds me of that day in elementary when the teacher handed us all paper plates with elasticized straps attached to hold them on, and then dumped out boxes filled with odds and ends of silk and plastic flowers, lace, material, broken jewellery etc, and gave us each a big bottle of glue.  It was like a WWF Rumble as we fought for the bits we wanted for our hats.    I still have a scar on my left elbow shaped like Mindy Blackwell’s retainer.  My brother HAS Mary Blackwell’s retainer.  She ended up with the garden gnome we all wanted.  
Later we got to parade around in front of the other classes and we thought we were awesome, regardless of the snorking and laughter going on around us.  We were all certain they were laughing at the others – not our beautiful creations – although farm boys with fancy dress hats on their head was probably one heck of a missed opportunity for those of use whose livelihood would eventually come to rely on blackmail.
I had learned how to control my own snorking by attending church with the older ladies and seeing what they wore.  You eat your snork after facing the fire and brimstone speech of the minister, followed by actual fire and brimstone from your sore butt, courtesy of Aardvark’s Belt.
I had to do a refresher course when I came here.  I think what tipped me over the edge was how serious everyone is about it all.  Fashions on the Field is a full body contact, heavy duty, competition sport.  Most of the unsolved mysteries in Australia centre around well dressed women who probably would have won, but disappeared on race day.  Somewhere there is a landfill of cocktail dresses and expensive fascinators and bones … and no Aussie woman will EVER tell.   Aussies invented Australia Rules Football AND took Fashions on the Field to a whole new level.
I have a friend who always competes and usually wins.  She spends hours planning her outfit for each race.  Be reminded I live outside a tiny town in rural Australia not far from the coast.  We have a shop and a half to buy dresses from.  I am not sure even Australia cares about the town I am from, and believe no-one cares if we die let alone who won Fashions on the Field.  She and her husband have a horse that races and they have invited us to attend the festivities some times.  She invites us and then reminds me I MUST wear a hat and offers to share one of hers.  
I say  “offer” but she is on the ground sobbing, holding on to one of my legs and begging.   I always assure her I have it handled.
Then she cries even harder.
OK, those of you who know me, know that is the absolute worst thing to ever say to me.  I cannot help myself.  It is like this switch gets turned on and you know I am either going to show up sans the hat completely or else wear something really …. strange.  Like a big paper flower with the face cut out of it, similar to the costume you wore for your elementary schools drama production of Little Red Riding Hood when you were a flower in the garden.  
Probably not as good as that one though because it had been a long time since I had coloured anything and colouring in the lines is not a life long lesson your retain, like riding a bike.
The trick is to act like you think you are beautiful.  I am pretty sure it was my friend who sabotaged my attempts to register for the Fashions on the Field competition.  All I know is she and several of her other friends volunteered to come with me to the bathroom and then “somehow,”  the stall I was in got jammed and I could not get out. 
I don’t know why the invitations to attend stopped after that. 
I was just getting started.
SKIN:   .:WoW Skins::. V2 Masha
HAIR:  *Milk* Hair! The Top Knot *Blacks*
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Intense Collection
LASHES:  ATIA’s Whisper Lashes
OUTFIT:  [LeL.Ultra]-GUILE/red
SHOES:  *TOXIC* Chelsea Ankle Boots CHERRY
COLLAR:  =Zenith=High Elf Lace Collar
EARRINGS:  * Donna Flora* BROCADE and; jewels earrings NC

It’s That Time of The Year Again.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

School shopping with your grandparents is probably every kid’s nightmare. It is bad enough just being a farm kid. Parents are thinking, how can we provide serviceable farm clothes, good for the combine image in the fall? They consider things like,” how can we get more flannel items?”  They do this because once they are worn out, they make great rags. These are not good considerations for the conscious savvy teen wanting to look cool. Hence most of the guys wore lee jeans, a belt, runners, and a tee shirt. On spiffy days their shirt had buttons. Whoot, talk about having to hose down the girls.
If your local, near-by town(80 kms away)had more than 8 people in it then you probably had a hardware store. Wow,  amidst the mice traps, rose dust, hammers and chipped blue daisy tea set, they brought in “clothes’” Fashion stores have a buyer for their fall collections.  Hardware stores pay the guys who pick up the bottles in the ditches, to pick up the clothes they find, wash them up, press them, pin on a handwritten $ 9.99 sign and voila … instant fashion for the farm.

Some of the girl’s mothers sewed for them.  Wow, who knew calico was so versatile? Some girl’s mothers had the shopping channel on their TV and omg weren’t their jeans bedazzled!! And some girls forgot the clothes and focussed on hair, riding the school bus in pink sponge curlers and taking them out just before they arrived to school. It was a polite way of announcing to the boys who rode the same bus “don’t even think about asking me out, you are scum and unworthy of my consideration. “ On the other hand, see a girl without pink sponge curlers and she was fair game. It is the unspoken law of the prairies and the language of the pink sponge. (see The Prairie Hand Book page 111)
But shopping with grandparents … first of all the trip takes two days.  Humpydora drove that slow, leaning forward over the wheel and clicking her false teeth as she went.  Anything over 20km and Biff and I were hanging on to each other for dear life and admitting we love one another.  Her ability to control the vehicle was limited.  Grandma would want to get groceries being as we were “making a trip to town,” so by the time the grocery man finished telling her all the latest gossip while he tried to chip the bag of frozen peas off the side of his stellar, state-of-the-art, freezer – having been in there for 8 years (the peas not the freezer), the morning was shot. I wouldn’t have minded so much except the grocery store had only one aisle and it was filled with things like pemmican, dried berries, beef jerky, twinkies (also there for at least 8 years), and lotto tickets of course. And, there was always a stand from the CWA with crocheted dolls or such for your toilet paper rolls ’cause what farm house decor was complete without a couple of those.  Farm hands lived for those dolls.
Then it was lunch at the greyhound bus stop/gas station/bug spray emporium/lawn motor blade sharpening palace/porn corner (under brown wrappers of course to protect the innocent), café. There, you and your loved ones could sit and eat in the ambience of Kings. John and Sharon King.  Sharon was toothless and had boobs that hung down to her navel and had burned her bra back in the 70’s and never quite got enough money saved to buy a new one.   John was bald with 3 teeth and obviously a load tester for a belt company judging by the ever increasing load on his belt. The place stunk of greasy fat and the booths were circa 1940 with red booth seats now taped with grey electrical tape and checker flecked tables with corrugated iron edging. And of course there was a counter with stools.
We sat in a booth, after all we were damn important and it was a big day. Humpydora would always smile and tell us we could have anything we wanted from the menu.  Hmm fried cheese sandwich with fries, hamburger with fries, or fried chicken with fries … decisions decisions. I usually had fries with fries, which Sharon always had to go and check with John to see if it was “allowed.” One time they were trying something new, “liver meatloaf,” and wondered if anyone would like to try it. I volunteered Biff cause I love him and he is precious to me. I wanted him to go first out of deep respect for the fact he was the eldest.  He was sick for a week. Meatloaf wasn’t on the menu the next time we went, liver or otherwise.
The afternoon was spent getting the school supplies. The hardware store just happened to have a “stationary” department as well. It consisted of 3 binders, one red two blue, some loose leaf, a box of pencil crayons – slightly used with the pink one missing, a box of pencils – a couple of them already chewed, 8 bic pens, post-it notes (what a progressive town) and a batman lunch pail. She bought it all. We were exhausted.  We had to put off getting our clothes until the next morning.  The store was so big, we would have had to turn our heads to check out the “clothes department.”  Clearly we learned to pace ourselves before all the excitement took its toll.
Staying in town usually involved visiting some sick ass person or a relative. Either way it was always, “don’t worry about the 23 years of garbage parked in your living room, the kids will clean it up.”  And we did.  Or, “don’t worry about the quintuplets screaming and crying – the kids can babysit them.”  Nowhere on my list of things I most wanted to do here while on earth was the word “babysitter” to be found, but I was always being volunteered for that one. We, of course, slept on dirt floors in an outer shed somewhere, snivelling and hungry, fighting off skunks and feral cats, hoping to live until morning so we could finish off our big shopping trip.
Like I said, blue jeans, flannel shirts, tee shirts, Stanfield underwear – white (the new women’s line), sturdy shoes, and my all time favourites .. gum boots. Damn those things were styling. The worst year of my life was when the square dancing fairy had visited the store, died and left them her pink sparkle square dancing outfit. No matter how much I protested and told Humpydora that Biff just would not look good in pink, it went nowhere.  There I was, front and centre, at church the next Sunday … in my square dancing outfit. I handled it in the only way I could.  During the opening hymn I got up and began “do-si-doing,” and “alamaning,” left and right, flipping the crinolines way over my head to reveal my “sturdy, sensible” underwear.
I never got to wear the dress again.  Shame.  Still in therapy over that one.
SKIN:  Pink Fuel[PF] Elsie – Lid 02 –
HAIR:  *booN DRJ224 hair
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Intense Collection
LASHES:  ATIA’s Whisper Lashes
EARRINGS:  HatpinsGacha – Lapis Lazuli Drop Earrings
NECKLACE:  (Kunglers Extra) Vivienne necklace – Golden/blue
HAT:  Xen’s HatsXH Bali Fedora Blue Band
DRESS:  SageCandace Dress Blue
JACKET:  The Secret Store – Structured Blazer – Chalk
SHOES:  {AnaMarkova} Bette Pumps Sky
LOCATION:  Slink West

Hot Pants Are A Gateway Drug for All Things Sin.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.


I think hot pants were the final straw that broke my grandparents back in the seventies.  We were pretty much heading toward complete nudity – we had burned our bras, people were going commando, we did not want to wash or comb our hair, our skirts kept getting shorter and shorter and the bathing suits were pretty much three threads on a string.  You could put a hat on and white gloves for church, but let’s face it, we were all lost causes of the hippie culture.
And please note – despite some similarities between our dress and the patterns and styles used by the Hutterites ….we were trying for Hippie.  Don’t be trashing farm folk.
I tried to dress fashionably but it is hard to carry off hot pants, which almost always included tall high heeled boots, around the barn yard.  
I remember the “talk” my grandmother decided to have with me.

First she actually spoke to me.  That was always a big give away that she wanted to “talk.”  Secondly, the maid was hovering in the background with lots of cleaning supplies, waiting, ever ready . . . 
Grandma told me that they used to do fan dances … and the idea was that the woman was naked but the fans covered her and she would just move them and show small “suggestions” of her body.  I have to admit I was really confused.  First of all the idea that my grandmother knew anything about fan dancers was kind of disturbing and second of all I had no idea what bits of the human body were referred to as “suggestions.”   She said that she found that much more exciting because it left things to people’s imaginations which was much more interesting than blatant nudity.  It took some of the pleasure out of “things.”
Yes my grandmother was having a talk with me about strippers, and she was using them as an example she was hoping I would emulate.  
I am hoping to graduate therapy next week for the damage that talk caused.  No-one needs to know what their grandmother finds exciting, or that she worries about pleasuring anything.    Luckily I was versant enough in grandmaese to know she wanted me to cover up more.  She wanted me to believe it was more sexy to cover up than to just stand their blatantly naked.
I looked at her plaid apron over her dark floral dress, her pantyhose wrinkled at her ankles and was so grateful to have her as a role model for my blossoming womanhood.  She may have been the first Paris Hilton or Kim Kardashian, role model for the pre-teen wanna be sex queen.  As I said … therapy … may graduate next week …
I learned the lesson.
I bought really big fans. 
Want to see my “suggestions?”
SKIN:  [theSkinnery] Eniko 3
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Intense Collection
LASHES:  ~Hush~ Lashes – Doll
MAKE-UP:  EYESHADOW:  [:ME:] Audrey EyeShadow P2 (Dark 2)
                     LIPSTICK and TEETH: [PF] Elly – Glam Lipstick/Teeth – (Coral Splash
SHOES:  [whatever] Gallium – Brown
JEWELLERY:  Zibska[Group Gift] Lydie
POSES:  Ma Vie

Near Misses, Not Everyone Made It Out Alive.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

I had a crush on this guy once who used to say, “she’s all that and a bag of chips.” I never really understood what that meant. I was so desperately trying to get his attention, I rented a hamburger suit and waited for him on the side of his street hoping when he went by he would see me and realize I too was “all that.” I saw his care coming, he came by … and went on … and once I got the mud outta my eyes and made it back to the costume store, I had to buy the suit outright.  It cost me a fortune.  I was walking home in the suit, crying, it was kind of sad.  I  will never forget what he said to me as he drove out of sight that night.  He saud, “HEY HAMBURGER GIRL!! GET THE F**K OUTTA THE WAY!!!”
I don’t think he meant to be unkind, the car did swerve away from hitting me at the last moment.  That is something, right?

I’ve had more than my share of experience with vehicular manslaughter and swerving cars. I have killed birds and gophers, and I wanted to drive over Biff’s head lots of times but I learned to just give the medication a chance to work, and the feelings would pass.
I hit a deer once.  Well, I was a passenger in a car that hit a deer.  One of my grown up namby-pamby city cousins was driving at the time. She hit a deer and then got out to look at the damage. The doe was laying in the ditch – obviously broken legged and hurting bad.  She was looking up, blinking at my cousin.  I said we needed to put the deer down and asked her if she had a gun.  She went ballistic and lectured me for some time on the stupidity and inhumanity of guns, guns in the hands of the wrong people (even though I told her she could have handed it to me … problem solved) blah blah.  She ignored me and started rummagin around in her trunk, she only had a tire iron.  “No problem,” she told me.  She had a friend who knew all about these kinds of things. All she had to do was hit the deer directly on a “special spot” in between the ears, on top of its head, and it would be gone.  It was the only “humane way” to put the deer down.   I started nodding and reached for the camera thinking this could go viral.  I had no idea what earthly advantage that might provide for me but if other people were lining up and whining about it, I wanted some too.
So she stood over the deer, the deer is looking up at her blinking (think Bambi in all the close-ups, so cute and sad at the same time considering the circumstances …) and my cousin raised the iron above her head and brought it down.  “Tap.”
“Tap, Tap.”
Still nothing.
I suggested that perhaps the one blow the “expert”  was taking about was delivered with either a little more force, or maybe even a sledge hammer.  She growled at me and told me to shut-up.  Her friend knew what he was talking about.  Of course,  he was obviously fresh from the “Harvard School of Deer Downing.”
“Tap tap tap tap tappity tap tap tap.
I started walking, marvelling at how much more humane life was without guns,  flagged down a car and had them call Game and Wildlife.   They came, fined her for inhumane treatment of a defenceless animal, and insisted on the name of her friend.  I suggested they use torture to get it from her,  I even volunteered to administer it.   They declined so I waved good-bye and drove off,  leaving her with them.   Hey, I am a responsible citizen and we can’t have people like her running willy nilly all over Canada maiming our deer.
Oh, they shot the deer.
I was involved in another near vehicular manslaughter this very morning,   this time my own!!! Don’t ever pay attention to your dreams. They suck.  Like last night I dreamt about our neighbour which is kind of disturbing in itself ’cause he hates us.  I could be overstating it.  I am not sure if someone, in using their whipper-snipper, purposefully shoots rocks at your hubby’s head . . .  could that be dislike?  In the dream I was being urged to forget about all the times he was caught peeping in our windows, and all the stupid things he said about us in the neighbourhood, and that his cat was always in our yard, and that he drove over all our young trees.  I was being urged to “make nice.”
BUT, the problem is we have tried and he refuses as I think God designated us the “10 year volunteers” for all his angst.   That is where you try to make sense of insanity and you can’t so you pretend God has some plan that makes sense out of everything.  So, in the dream this phone call came and this Maharaja sounding voice told me to share my “birth date” with him and the details around it because it was cool and he would like that kind of thing and it would bond us, build a bridge and we would be friends.   (hey you don’t argue with a Maharaja sounding voice that comes to you in dreamland.  It coulda been that Ghandular guy calling for crying out loud …)
So this morning, I barely got my cup of coffee underway when I saw the neighbour driving off.   Out I ran, still naked except for my “transformer” underwear and an old bathrobe, screaming down the street after their car. 
“It’s May.  TUESDAY,  MAY 12th, 1995!!” (oh stop it of course I am not telling YOU my real birth date, this is literary license and I have 3)
Nothing happened.  The car kept driving.  As I sat there picking gravel from my teeth I remembered more of the details.  I cut through a couple yards and caught up to them on the main road. 
“Mom was 23 hours in labour, she tore like crazy, 23 stitches!  Isn’t that an interesting coincidental detail?  It’s cool right???  Don’t you like that kind of thing?? WHAT ABOUT WHAT THE MAHARAJA SAID??????””
That’s when the car stopped, turned around and headed back straight for me. 
Luckily I leapt out of the way at the last moment into my other neighbour’s garbage cans.  I tried to explain to the police later about the dream and all that,  but you know how when you dream and it all seems incredibly profound but then you try and explain it to someone and it just sounds stupid?? Um ya.
So that is kinda how I felt.  I am going now.  Talk later, OK?
(note to self:  talk to therapist about possible overshare …) 
SKIN:   ryuukouaine cognac
HAIR:  *booN BUT389 hair black/chocolate/purple
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Intense Collection
LASHES:  ATIA’s Whisper Lashes
JEWELLERY:  BRACELET:  *{Junbug}* Antique Cuff [Rose Gold + Black Diamond]
                       NECKLACE:  (Yummy) Snowflake Crystal Necklace – Gold
                       RING:  Ariskea  [Trance] Ring Collections Silver & Gold
DRESS:  =Zenith=(Begie/Lace) Peplum Dress
PURSE:  BEPPIN! Co-Co Lee Clutch  Asiana  After Spring
POSES:    Morgana Batista

I Think I Had A Paranormal Experience Today

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

tiptoe through the canaries
I had my annual eye check up.  They told me to take a seat around the corner but when I tried to take it out of the store they got all bent out of shape.   Evidently they wanted me to go and sit down around the corner; I have no idea why they did not just say that.
I never do what I am told.  Sorry, once you make a habit of something, it is hard to break even if you want to.  I don’t want to, so talking to me is useless.  My grandparents finally gave up and moved while I was away one weekend.  It worked out well.  They stopped trying to tell me what to do and I was no longer annoyed.

tiptoe through the canaries 1
I think they were a bit disappointed that I never tried to find them though.  I have a theory that when people spend a fortune on removing all trace of themselves, and manage to get themselves into the Witness Protection Programme and then they find out that no-one has even noticed they were gone, let alone cared … it can really be a self esteem downer.
For the record, I am not the one who told them that I didn’t even notice they had moved until I was 32.
Anyway, I was out looking at eyeglass frames, while I waited to be summoned to the eye room.  I like to work my way up to having my eyes blasted with air so I asked random people to blow in my eyes.  Gee people are testy when it comes to helping someone out.  The store monitor asked me to “refrain” from upsetting the rest of the customers.  I had to settle at looking at eyeglass frames.  The lady pointed out that this wall, and “these” were the women’s frames.  I nodded and headed straight for the men’s frames.  She said, “those are men’s frames.”  I said, “thank you.”  She stood and watched me and I knew, had she been able to secure a ruler, she would have smacked my hands as I reached for another men’s pair to try on.
I could hear her teeth grinding into each other as she clenched her jaw. 
I told her, “THAT is such a good look on you!  Seriously!  It takes away all those little lines around your mouth.”
An older lady was telling her helper that she needed a pair of glasses that made her “look intelligent.”  She was taking the pair of pink glasses with little kitties etched into them out of the hands of the helper and putting them back on the display.  She moved towards some basic styles.   The helper picked out a blue pair with little dog decals.  The lady frowned and shook her head.  Soon she was beside me at the men’s display.  I so high fived her.
Well I didn’t actually because I probably would have knocked her over, but I did in my mind.  You know when you see an older woman with class and you look at them and just want to be like them when you age … more age than you are aged right now ….?  She was just leaving the store when I came out of my eye exam.  She had a chair underneath her sweater.
tiptoe through the canaries 2
I love her. 
I think maybe I had a paranormal experience, you know, saw myself in the future . . .
The best part?
I’ve lost weight!!
SKIN:  .::WoW Skins:::: V2 Masha Bronze
HAIR:  (Chemistry) Hair – Lila
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Intense Collection
LASHES:  ATIA’s Whisper Lashes
MAKE-UP:  EYESHADOW:  Izzie’s– Estella Eyeshadow purple
                     LIPSTICK:  [:ME:] Sapphire Lips (07 Dark)
JEWELLERY:  Zibska[Group Gift] Kei Necklace, Earrings &Cuff
LONG GOWN:  Noodles – Bellatrix Dress Nightshade
SHOES:  fri. – Oakley.Heels (Cherry)
POSES:    Morgana Batista

If You Chance to See a Frown

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

“If You Chance to See a Frown, do not let it stay
Quickly turn it upside down and smile that frown away.”
My grandmother was always singing me little songs with messages and hidden meanings.   I think she attended a parenting school where she majored in, “Sing it to them and they will have the lesson for life.”
I am reporting back after my experience with the brainwashing that failed.
I did not learn the lesson.  I learned that I hated rhymey, singsongy, myopic tunes with words attached that a grownup lacked the ability to speak, plainly and simply.   In this case, “stop frowning,” would have covered it all, kept people’s sanity, and may have put off therapy and the final outcome where I hated my parents.

I actually started to take the songs as a challenge.  I was trying to find ways of complying so that they could not angry with me, but still underscored that their communication technique was ineffective and possibly even dangerous.  They assumed, from this song, that someone would understand they should turn the corners of their mouths up, instead of down – hence turning the frown upside down and making it a smile.
I stood on my head on the coffee table, in front of all the guests, including the minister.  My crinolines fell towards my head, exposing my panties with the hole where “Sunday” was once embroidered.  That concerned another adult direction, not sung, but equally deserving of someone to mess with it.  My grandmother gave me the whole thing about wearing clean underwear, “in case something happened.” Of course she meant, in case I was in an accident and had to go to the hospital and the doctors were so horrified I was wearing dirty underwear that they refused to stop the bleeding from my broken leg and severed femoral artery.  Happens all the time.  Who can look at anything else when dirty underwear is in the room?  Anyway, I ripped off “Sunday” and when my grandmother demanded to know why, I told her I had to.  It was Friday.  What if the ambulance people were called, and I had dirty underwear AND the wrong day?  They would either think I was stupid or could not read.  I did it for her.  For her and her severe sensibilities concerning the thoughts of other people and what they might think of us. . . and ultimately . ..  her.  
She doubted my sincerity but I assured her my caring what people thought of me, or the family for that matter, paled in comparison to her heroic efforts.
Of course when you get older you actually care about wearing clean underwear, ” in case something happens.”   But THAT kind of “something” usually involves the back seat of the car and was not an accident unless it only happened because both of you were really drunk and would never have gone there otherwise.  While my grandmother was talking about a “something” no-one wanted to happen, I am talking about a “something” that, depending on my date, seemed like a really good thing.
So I stood on my head, ripped panties showing, with technically a smile on my face where a frown once lay.  Except I never actually surrendered the frown.  I thought it would be a win win.  My grandmother saw a smile and I would be allowed my own emotions independent from those demanded of me in a song by grandparents who really were not that into raising me but at the same time could not bear to have anyone know that.  In order to do that, I had to learn to behave, senior citizen style. 
I actually felt badly for them.  They should have traded me in. 
She did prove one thing though, I am not sure anyone even noticed the “smile” . . . Turns out underwear, even undirty underwear, is pretty much a show stopper.
At least my show stopped, for about 2 weeks . . .  in my room …  without TV .
SKIN:  .::WoW Skins::. Virginia, SWANK EVENT
BODY:  Maitreya Mesh Body – Lara
HAIR:  Moon. Hair// – FATPACK – Moonlight
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Intense Collection
LASHES:  ATIA’s Whisper Lashes
RIBBON:   Bowtique  – Sash Accessory
BRACELETS and RING:  Bowtique – Love & Hearts Bracelet/Ring Set
DRESS:  Kaithleen’sElena Dress – Red
SHOES:  [hh] Maitreya Haven Classic Pumps
POSES:    Morgana Batista

Chick Chick Chick.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

Never fully understood why the term “don’t be chicken” was used to suggest that someone was afraid to do something.   I doubt a farmer ever came up with it.  In fact, most of the sayings about farm animals show ignorance about the animals they are referring to. 
Sheep really are not “fluffy.”  Think really curly hair, never combed, wandering through the fields and the dirt for months and then having to shave it all off.  Pigs are not “big fat pigs” that we imply when we label someone overweight who just sits around and eats.  Pigs are vicious.  There is a reason serial killers dispose of bodies in the pig pen . . . nothing left of a body once a pig gets to it.  No way  to prove they were ever there.  And if you think pigs will eat anything, ever been around goats?  And all that dancing and playing with goats is cute until they decide that they need to move you out of the way.  A goat head, racing towards you at 50 km an hour, that connects with your hip …. painful.  

Cows are not easily “tipped” when they sleep, being as they sleep lying down and I would like to see you sneak up on a cow weighing almost 1000 kg and “tip” them over.   And then I would like to see you do more than one, because the claim is always that they  “tipped cowS.”  All those city kids who claim they went out on the weekend “cow tipping” should probably not be stumbling around in the dark as they clearly cannot see a thing … not sure what they “tipped” but it was not a cow.
Geese are not docile graceful birds in serene paintings.  They hiss and chase and bite with a pinching like quality that resembles your brother taking a pair of pliers to your arm and taking in a single nerve, a tad of skin, and sending you to a place where the lights are bright and sound fades around you and all goes black.
Chickens can be vicious.  Even in death, with their heads chopped off,  they run around creating a fuss.  They scratch in the dirt for bugs, meaning their feet have really sharp claws and possibly spurs.  Their beaks are precision nail gun like forces to be reckoned with.  Pray they are not going for an eye.
My brother tried to train attack chickens.  I think he did it because he was banned from organizing the cows, not that the cows were good subjects anyway, they kept laying down and wanting to sleep.  Probably because they had to stay up all night to be on the look out for city people sneaking in and shoving them around.  No-one ever made the connection, but an awful lot of city teens went missing there for awhile.  It happened about the same time that the cows and the pigs became really good friends, and then the pigs started really packing on the weight and were not that interested in the pellets we normally fed them.
I am just saying, perhaps Animal Farm is not the only saga of how the animals can gather and plot.
SKIN:  –Glam Affair – Coral – Jamaica – Lotus H
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Intense Collection
LASHES:  ATIA’s Whisper Lashes
NECKLACE:  Ariskea  { Sparks }  Moon Necklace – Silver
RINGS:  Ariskea[Trance] Ring Collections Silver & Gold
TOP:  E-ClipseNomi Jacket Black
PANTS:  –Pixicat– Wintry.Tights (Black)
BAG:  MULIERx 1992 // Prouler Clutch (Lemon)
SHOES:  [whatever] Flaties – yellow
POSES:  *PosESioN*