BloggingSL

A Second Life® Fashion Feed

The Lesson of the Blue Jeans, a Fashionary Tale.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

bbtb1
I had a gift for driving my grandparents to tears, especially when it came to clothes.
Buying a new pair of jeans took a lot of work.  You couldn’t just buy them, wear them, and off you go.  First you had to make sure you got the right kind; Lees or Levis were the only permissible options.  Then you had to bleach them or make the jeans look old as hell.   That involved bleaching or making them filthy and grinding in the dirt, and washing them repeatedly. 
Anyone caught wearing deep blue, brand new, blue jeans were completely crossed off the guest list for the cool kids table at lunch.  Of course we had rebels, boys mainly, whose moms shopped for them at the local hardware store and bought them flannel and denim without any consideration for their child’s social health.  I look back at some of those pics and shake my head.  Imagine walking out the door in the morning and looking over and seeing Dad, Grandpa, the drunk from down the road, and 50 other men in your farming community with the exact same outfit on?  Try that and then go to school and see if you can lean back against the lockers and wheel in the girls … no way.   

bbtb2
I have never attended any of my school reunions but I bet if I did, some of those farm boys are still single, or they had an arranged marriage for the sake of merging cattle herds or farm land.   No-one talks about that but it is the only explanation for two people who never spoke to one another at all during their entire lives until they woke up one morning married and headed out to meet the day, he on the combine, she on the bailer.  It’s like they were kidnapped after they went to bed the night before, married and placed in the home place, with their parents finally able to take a weekend in the Okanagan and try swimming.   
It is either that or when there was no-one left to marry they got each other by default, like the last two people left after the pairing up in gym class for the section on square dancing … “OK, and that leaves John and Mary, go stand next to Muffy and Biff!”
May they live happily ever after.
They probably have a happier life than any of the rest of us.   It is either the arranged marriage of the lack of teeth that makes the magic happen.
So back to the jeans … after we got them looking suitably distressed (those kids of the 80’s have no idea how lucky they were to be able to buy jeans already done for them) we had to get the hems frayed as soon as possible.  You always bought them longer than you needed so you walked on them a bit.  You spent a lot of time walking on them and blocking out your grandparents whining about how you were walking on your jeans and you were going to wear them out.  Then they would point to the fraying bits and start to cry and look at you with such disappointment.  I was never sure what the correct response was in that situation.  Did you say you were sorry, you were disappointed in yourself too?  Did you get them a sympathy card saying that you were so sorry that their child had ended up being a pant destroyer?  I swear there were times I just had no idea what the heck they wanted from me.   The worst was when they would insist you needed a belt to keep the hems from dragging on the ground.  Have you ever had to wear hipsters pulled up under your arm pits with a belt tightly cinched across your chest to keep them up so your pants did not drag??   It was even worse when your grandfather got out a pair of suspenders.
And then … came the splitting the bottom seam and adding in more blue jean material or some cool fabric to make them  bell bottoms.  You had to do that in the dark, under your bed, hiding your stash of needles and thread, and not present the jeans until the damage was completely done and there was no going back.  It helped to strengthen your buttocks, hide the belt you had been given (being disciplined with your own apparel has to be beyond humiliating) and clear your social calendar for the amount of time you were likely to be grounded.
Once you got out of the hole, you could carry on being cool.
Don’t tell me that good fashion does not exact blood from it’s loyal servants.
At least when those jeans wore out it was just another excuse for a cool patch of some kind.  And then when they were in shreds you might still be able to salvage them for shorts and then keep  any other material for fringe to sew on a shirt or jacket or purse, or even patches for other jeans.  
We may not have had a computer generated “paint” program back in the day but we had denim.
bbtb3
Recycling should have bought us some brownie points with the parental units but my sojourn into blue jean design taught me more than fashion, art, social awareness and unfair penal practices.  It taught me about communicating to win.  Trying to reform the existing practices of punishment by proving your parents wrong and showing them how you actually did respect your clothes, and made them last, AND managed to graduate high school alive and with street cred and friends who signed your year book is not a good move.  It just makes you a bigger target for reprogramming, involving the need to break you prior to more brainwashing.
I think that is why so many of my generation left home as soon as we could and headed straight to Woodstock.
SKIN:  Lara Hurley Skin-Gervaise
HANDS:  SLink
HAIR:  Blues. Dakota – Blondes
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Intense Dark Brown
LASHES:  ATIA’s Whisper Lashes
LIPSTICK:  [PF] Elly – Glam Lipstick/Teeth – (Burgundy)
TOP:  *COCO*_SweaterWithShirt_LightBlue
JEANS:  :Moon Amore: Ohana Jeans (Patched)
SHOES:  *COCO*LaceEspadrille_Ivory
POSES:  AgaPee

Life is One Big Costume Party, or it Should Be.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

botm1
I still think life would be much simpler if people wore costumes.  We don’t always have time, or the inclination, as to inquire of people how their day is going and thus tailor our interaction so as to keep everyone alive.
If those women intending to play the role of the evil stepmother queen/witch etc were to dress the part, it would save so much heartache.  I would know to step away from the mirror the moment they enter the women’s washroom .. . using the hand sanitizer in my purse as opposed to sticking around to wash my hands. And, I would say something like, “have you done something new with your hair?  You look so much younger today … really nice!!”  That way the likelihood of getting stabbed or spit on are minimized.
Especially when neither blood or spittle go with your current costume.  And I don’t have any that do.

I think that is why kids like costumes so much.  Everyone knows exactly what role they are to play, if any, in that kids world for the day.   You can even pick your battles.  Who knows, you might escape their growing up with your sanity intact.  I should point out that I am not a doctor, and I am not promising anything, but it is always nice to dream.
Spiderman is more likely to be open to being told to eat his vegetables, super heroes need their strength, than he is ever going to be about you telling him to get down from side of the radio tower he has decided to climb.  The teenager dressed like a princess may respond kindly when you fetch things for her, bowing as you hand them off, instead of taking your head off, sans the sword,  when you ask her to wash out her cereal bowl before she leaves for school.  Some things you just do not even attempt when a costume is screaming, “stop, drop and roll,” or “assume the fetal position.”
Just one little word of advice, just because your husband has on work overalls … never ever assume that means he will be playing the role of Joe Handyman today and he might actually get around to fixing the downstairs toilet so that his mother does not get to wander through your bedroom on her way to use the only working bathroom in the house which happens to be your ensuite.   Men will just pick up whatever happens to be handy while they sit on the bed and consider getting up.  If they were drunk enough the night before, it might even be the princess costume you wanted to wear today.
botm 2
In that case, as always, you are best not to fight for it back.  Ugly princesses are stronger than they look.  Just put on the martyr outfit with the velcro for the back of your hand that goes with the rest of it on the band around your forehead.  Attach hand and begin moaning.  Go show your mother in law … she will be in your bedroom rummaging through your things.
SKIN:  LoveMe Skins – Brenda Group Gift
HAIR:  Amacci Hair Attachment ~ Elle
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Intense Dark Brown
LASHES:  ATIA’s Diamond Wings Lashes
GOWN:  :: PM :: Drew Gown – Group Members Gift
JEWELLERY:  [LIZ] Silhouette jewelry  necklace
[MANDALA]DNA _Jewely_set_GOLD
POSES:  AgaPee

Prophesying For The Nation. When Dreams Come True.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

lotw1a
You may want to write this down somewhere because I had a dream and I am not 100% sure but it could be prophetic.
Whenever I see glitter or sparkles or people with white flowing anything … I try to pay attention.  You would think that teachers in school would catch on to this and jazz up their wardrobe and their classrooms a little.  Can you  imagine the impact of teaching math if the teacher walked through the mist produced from a smoke machine and stood at his desk with a wand that shot out sparkles to direct our attention to the formulas on the boards?
I might not have climbed out the window every time he turned his back.
Just saying.
My life could have been completely different.

lotw3a
I had a dream that this white horse like thing with wings and a tail and a furry face was flying through the air over my house.  Ok maybe it was more like a white cat thing was flying but for some reason in the dream I thought it was a horse.  I am not clear in dreams if you go with what you were thinking or what you actually saw when the event unfurled.
Anyway it was flying and circling and Tony Abott and a bunch of politicians showed up and they wanted to come into the house and have some of my cinnamon buns.  Trust me when I say, if they had ever eaten any of my buns, they would drive all the way here for them.  Hey maybe the flying cat/horse was like a sign for them.  You know, a star led the wise men to baby Jesus, maybe a giant flying fur ball led the idiots to my house.  I was actually excited when I started typing that last sentence, but by the timne I got to the end of it  . . . not so much . . .
They wanted in and I told them I was disgusted with them and their behaviour and that woman who misused the helicopter was definitely NOT coming in.  I told them I would feed the boat people before I would feed them and then I was scared that they would hear my Canadian accent and would tell me I had to go back there  . . . on a boat . . . so I settled with telling them they could sit along the street and I would bring them some cinnamon buns.  
I have doilies inside my house that need to be protected you know.  I couldn’t trust Tony to be alone with my doilies.  I am pretty sure he would have soiled them.
Tony really wanted to be my friend.   He was being all chatty and trying to talk hockey with me.   I gave him the worst bun of the lot.  He loved it anyway.
What can I say, it is really hard for me to make yucky buns.
The rest of them kind of faded into the gutters and suddenly it was just Tony and me and the cat horse thingy falpping its wings as we were walking down by the creek.  I said, “There are turtles in there you know.”   This point seemed incredibly important.  I am not positive but I think there was this “duh duh DUUUHHHHH” sound when I said that.  The next thing there was a turtle with Tony’s head and his swim cap on and a speedo stretched over its shell swimming off down the creek through the lily pads.  The cat/horse thingy told me I shouldn’t let him go like that, he could drown .. so for some reason I chucked a cinnamon bun at him, clocked him on the head, and he drowned.
I looked up and the horse cat was flying off into the sun and there were angels singing and I looked at my hands and they were glowing and all my birds were gathered in the trees singing … and then I woke up ….
I think this could really mean something important.
lotw2a
I am just saying if anything happens to Tony in the next little while … I haven’t baked any cinnamon buns in months so don’t blame me, and besides .. they are light and airy and who drowns because they have been hit on the head with a cinnamon bun . . . anyone with half a brain could get out of the way, or fight it off, or survive in some way ….
Gee that sentence started out great and ended even better.  Bonus!!
SKIN:  Belleza– Grace C88 Med 2
HANDS and FEET:  SLink
HAIR:  “”D!va“” Hair “Kelly” (Moon stone)
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Enigmatic Green
LASHES:  Angel Rock Eyelash
MAKE-UP:  LIPSTICK:  DAZED-UtopiaH- Glossy Pink Lip (medium)
EYESHADOW:  Zibska ~ Arzu Frost
JEWELLERY:  Donna FloraLUMIERE
DRESS:  SAS – Froth Latte Gown
SHOES:  lassitude and ennui Nevermore heels – white

I Blame Rag Dolls and my Grandmother.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

bstb2
I blame my extra weight on my grandmother telling me to pretend to be a rag doll and feel heavy in order to go to sleep.  Talk about brainwashing.  “Feel” heavy is just one step away from “be” heavy.
I bet no ballerina’s mom ever said that to their kid and I really really wanted to be a ballerina.  Ok that is not true, I wanted to wear the shoes and the tu-tu’s.  I was not in touch with the reality of hours of hard work bending your body in ways it is not meant to bend and breaking your toes in bloody pulps that for some reason we call it “art” and because there is movement “dancing” as opposed to the Chinese practice of binding feet and shuffling which we call “barbaric.”

bstb3
My rule book is all over the place on these things.
Recently I am not sleeping much.  Try explaining that one to your doctor. 
“Why don’t you think you are sleeping at night?”
 “I’ve lost my inner ragged doll. “
 I have no role models anymore.  Everything is durable hard plastic. Those dolls have blinking eyes that get stuck, or worse, they talk to you mocking you with a sing songy “I love you mommy.”   Imagining those dolls makes me weightless and I figure an eating disorder on top of not being able to sleep could make me homicidal.  While that might provide me with a momentary sense of euphoria, it is not conducive to a long life or the well being of my “sometimes” loved ones . . . not to mention my “not even for a nanosecond” loved ones.  Besides, none of my grand kids are good with sharing their dolls.  They always tell their mommies on me.
So I lay awake at night trying to feel heavy and then not, because I believe you have to really commit to your weight loss plan, even when you are sleeping.  And I don’t sleep because that morphs into concerns about world peace and there is just no way to lie in your bed at night fall asleep and take all the world conflict with you so that you only leave peace.
bstb1
I sure hope the world sorts itself out soon and settles down AND brings back rag dolls with new technology so that they are not heavy and girls like me can finally lose the extra weight . . . and sleep . . .  
SKIN:  Essences {Cutie Moon Candy Fair Gacha} 06
HANDS and FEET:  SLink
HAIR:  “”D!va“” Hair “Mia”
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Enigmatic Green
LASHES:  Angel Rock Eyelash
EARRINGS:  [LIZ] Silhouette jewelry [Ice]SKIRT AND TOP:  *COCO*_SheerPanelCropTop_Black
*COCO*_SheerPanelSkirt_Black
SHOES:  *YSsndYS* Madrid Glossy Black
POSES:  BAUHAUS

Sign Posts of Life.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

momb 2a
I like to carry warning signs around with me … Like “out of order” for those people who just get on your nerves because they are wrong and they keep on talking long after you have pronounced them “idiots.”   I mean there is absolutely no need for further evidence once the verdict is handed down, even if it supports my original sentence.  I consider it doing the rest of the world a favour.  No one likes putting money into a machine and not getting what they wanted, and then some smart ass admits it has not been working for the entire work.
Think teenagers … they could wear the sign for most of 7 years and that sign could be sooo helpful.

momb 1a
I have a “danger” sign too.  I use it for when I am in a bad mood or when someone in the office forgets to mention we are out of coffee and we go hours with no caffeine which is really a life and death situation.  It works if any legal proceedings come out the incident.  They were warned.
“Stop. Drop.  Roll” has some fun results but nothing beats the Australian,  “Slip .  Slop . Slap.”  Sometimes I skip the “slip” and the “slop” and go straight in for the “slap.”   You just have to insist they looked a little sunburnt and you were following the government ads and performing a public service act.  You could call this “Skip Slip and Slop.  Slap!”
Some people cannot read.  
With those cases, a visual aid can be a Godsend.  
A monkey on your back could work when you are out of meds and desperately need them.   You know when you just want to be left the hell alone?   Just make sure that it is a glow in the dark monkey so that your hubby can see it and knows not to even think about crossing the pillow mountain you erected between him and you in the bed.   I learned the value of the glow in the dark monkey the hard way.  I had a normal monkey until I woke up one morning and the monkey had clearly been interfered with at some point during the night.
I didn’t have the heart to tell hubby.
He said it was the best sex ever.
momb 3a
For me too.

SKIN:  .::WoW Skins::. V2 Lagherta Tan
HAIR:  ::Exile::Full Of Grace Naturals
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Enigmatic Green
LASHES:  Angel Rock Eyelash
EARRINGS:  (Kunglers Extra) Recife – Seashell
BOOTS:  [Gos] Curvaceous Boots in Cream
COAT:  {AnaMarkova}Madison Coatdress Blanc

POSES:  BAUHAUS

We May All Look Identical But We Aren’t.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

Penguin soup 1a
I have a scar on my knee from where my brother pushed me off the brick fireplace and I hit the corner of it and massaged my knee into it on the way down to the ground.    When I peeled the scab off it looked like the grand canyon filling with the blood river.  It is probably the worst scar I have from my childhood

Penguin Soup 2a
My brother had a few chipped teeth.   We were playing marbles on the ground and he won all my marbles and I was a poor loser so I grabbed a handful and started a new game where the object was to huck them at his mouth from across the room and see how many he could hold in his mouth at once. 
The answer is 8.
I probably could have got more in there had my grandmother not stopped the game.  Something about all that blood staining the floor.   Also, he did have some broken teeth in there that had they been removed, there might have been more room.  I just think, even if you did not beat your old score, you should give credit where it might have been due.
I did that at my 4-H clothing club.  I pointed out had the material not been so crappy, and had my scissors been sharper, the sewing machine capable of sewing a straight line and I had more time to unpick it and redo for the 8th time .. .  the pocket on my dress would have been perfect and I would have aced the win.  I think sometimes they should overlook the little details and see the bigger picture. 
I also could have won Miss Universe if not for the body measurement crap they are so anal about . . . I mean how important is a bathing suit anyway to world peace?  I could sing it just as good as any of those women.
Penguin Soup 3a
That is why I like the whole idea that our scars and imperfections are what make us real.  Some us are just a whole lot more real than others, and that should be rewarded too.  Just saying . . . 
SKIN:  Style by Kira– Lulu Skin
HANDS and FEET:  SLink
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Enigmatic Green
LASHES:  Angel Rock Eyelash
HAIR:  Bens Hair Style – Angelic Hair
OUTFIT:  LEGENDAIRE – TAYLOR Outfit
SHOES:  {AnaMarkova}Venezia Heels Noir
LOCATION:  Rue a la Page

Dusting Off My Sanity.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

of things too long kept shut 1
I was watching the kids commercials for toys on television one day when I was held captive by my grandchildren. 
Things have really changed.
When I was growing up we asked for permission to watch television and then we quietly sat down and watched Don Messer’s Jubilee, Hockey Night In Canada or the news.  We never walked to the television and turned the channel.  We asked for permission to watch a show, pleaded our case, and accepted the verdict.  If we won, one of the parental units walked to the television and turned the knob.
Then I grew up and I had kids.  That was bad enough.  That day when you are sitting there rocking and singing along with Mr. Dressup and Casey and you realize that you are not holding a baby, and there are no children in the room.  Like, where was that picture in the birth control section of sex-ed?    You know, when you go out with your friends finally for a night out and you have no idea who they are talking about because the only adults you have been around for the past 5 years are named Sharon, Lois and Bram. 

of things too long kept shut 2
The other day I was with the grandkids and they were watching children.  I asked for permission to turn it to something else after 17 hours and forget that.  I was forced to surrender the television, the remote and my sanity, the moment the children decided they wanted to watch television. 
I watched the commercials where a doll, a dinosaur, a muppet and a unicorn all moved and chatted with the child they were playing with.  Of course it started a chorus of “MOMMMMMMM!!!  I WANT that!!”
Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to recognize that one of the voices screaming  is your own?  And to discover that you are jumping up and down on the couch at the same time? 
I had a brother.  A lousy crappy brother that made my life a living hell.  I had stupid pointless cows for pets.  I had farm kids as friends.   None of them had conversations.   None of them said nice things.  And not one of them sparkled.
I did the only thing I could.  I called my brother to meet me down at Walmart where I spent 3 hours trying to trade him in on a decent toy.  I pointed out how broken he was and how he didn’t ever sing.
They wouldn’t take him.
Life sucks.  It really does.  It lets you live just long enough for you to realize that you had a really lousy crappy childhood.  No wonder my great great grandfather spent the last years of his life hitting us kids over the head with a cane or using it to hook our necks and fling us into the back room when someone wasn’t watching him.  No wonder he used to take his false eye out and chuck it at us.  We had Gi Joes and Barbies.  We had Chatty Cathy and robots that boxed.  We had Mouse Trap and Etch a Sketch and Slinkies.  He had a rock and a stick as a kid.  He resented the hell out of us.
The poor man’s soul was in agony and there we were, children, laughing and enjoying ourselves, playing with our toys, rubbing his face in our cherub fresh faces and curly heads that had the whole future ahead of us with a lifetime of better toys, while he was old and dying and realized that his whole life was shit.
of things too long kept shut 3
If anyone is looking for me tell them I am out shopping for a cane and a false eyeball.
SKIN:  [theSkinnery] Cristy 1 (toffee)
HAIR:  little bones. Fame – Landslide
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Enigmatic Green
LASHES:  Angel Rock Eyelash
DRESS:  * Morphine : Jade’s Long Dress
NECKLACE:  [Fetch] Wayward Necklaces
SHOES:  SPIRIT STORE LOLA
POSES:  BAUHAUS

I’m A Blanket Hog.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

In the Back Alley 1
Hubby wanted me to show me how much he loved me this morning so he took me to the bedroom.  Oh grow up  . . . all of you.

In the Back Alley 2
Anyway he pointed to the unmade bed and the fact that most of the covers were on my side and how he woke up with a very cold arm but instead of pulling them back over on him, he let me have them all.  He said I always pull the blankets over to my side and leave him without any.  I think I was supposed to feel sorry for him.  Frankly if he can’t keep hold of the blankets he needs to stay warm, why is that my problem?  I pointed out that he is the one who is always telling me it is not cold and he is really warm so I am surprised he even uses blankets at all.  He is the one who says he was sweating through the night when I am using a blow torch to bring feeling back into my frozen legs.  He is the one the police picked up in Canada wandering the streets after they told everyone to stay inside because it was too cold for everyone to be out in the -57 weather.  Pfft what was a little cold to a “man” like him?
I think I won that one.  I failed to apologize and feel bad and try to make it up to him.
Later he came in to tell me not to go swimming.  He told me he had waded in,  up to his knees, to wash this hands.  This makes sense to the man.  You need to wash your hands, so you go outside to the swimming pool and wade in up to your knees.  You stand there in the freezing cold water and think, “hmm I must make sure I tell Aria NOT to go swimming.”   Good thing I wasn’t already in my swimming suit and on my way out when he found me.  
I asked him if he wanted me to move the hand soap and the towel and fill the bath tub so he could carry on the ritual indoors, or did he just want a bucket of water by the sink?  He rolled his eyes and repeated  he just wanted to warn me the water was really cold.  I said, “I know, it is the middle of winter here.  I knew that without even having to go near the water.  That is what happens when the weather gets cold, the water gets cold too.  There’s a reason people don’t swim in the winter … see look … none of the neighbours are in their pools either.”  And then I rolled my eyes.
I asked him if he knew his name and what day it was and if his doctor had done any testing for dementia because inability to feel  and  wading  into ice water to wash his hands were probably pretty strong indicators that testing should be done.  Then I made him some warm milk and got him his teddy.
In the Back Alley 3
I just checked on him.  The committee met and we decided that we needed to do regular checks on him to make sure he was not naked, running around outside in his bathing suit or rubbing ice on himself or something.  He seemed to be ok.    I have the first shift and then I will take over the next one around dinner time.  We decided to take turns like that because  I pulled everyone together who loves him and I can promise you, I will not leave him unattended.
That is the kind of committee I am.
SKIN:  .::WoW Skins::. V2 Patrizia Bronze
HANDS:  SLink
HAIR:  Moon. Hair// – FATPACK – Keepsake
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Enigmatic Green
LASHES:  Angel Rock Eyelash
BODYSUIT:  [LeL.Ultra]-GUILE/red
COAT:  Storm Crow Designs*Cosima* Fur Coat V1
SHOES:  Jimmy Chau~( jcshoe )~ shibaru
POSES:  BAUHAUS
PROPS:  Virtual Props & Poses – FREE [VMS]  Grunge Photography Prop
*StarShine Poses* Props Collection (grunge payphone)

My Confession

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

moonlight 1
I really should confess that I am a model in real life.
Early in my teens I modeled my own designs for the 4-H Clothing Club – a highly recognized fashion organization, setting the bar for fabulousity on the prairies.  People flocked to the spring show dying to see what was in for the new season.  I modelled a unique ironing mitt and a stunning apron.  They went right into my hope chest because you never know when you have a guy and he is thinking about marriage, not quite there, and then you can show him your apron and WHAM! He is over the edge and ready to walk down the aisle with you.  Nothing says commitment like a well made apron.

I had to cut my career short due to the fact I was not a good loser.  I sort of lost it when I did not win the best dress and took my fellow models hostage and insisted their parents could only get them back by auction.  I used their aprons as leads and had them on all fours and made them walk around the ring and roll over and stuff so people could bid on them.  I knew how they did it in the beef clubs and thought it was much more entertaining than just having the girls walk up and down a runway and smile.  No-one ever smiled at me.  I was pretty bitter.  I think everyone had fun except that when the evening was over we had 2 girls that no-one wanted.    I sent them to the stockyards.
moonlight 2
I got kicked out of the 4-H Clothing Club.  I think they wanted to give the other girls a chance to shine a little bit.  I was clearly already a leader and needed no further opportunities in that regard so now I just wanted the world … both the real and virtual, so I could  shine my fashiontude on everyone.  I know that people appreciate me even if they cannot speak when they meet me.  I have that effect on people.  Awestruck … all of them.
SKIN:  Lara Hurley Skin-Gervaise
HANDS:  SLink
HAIR:  *booN  ARK554 hair and *booN  hairpieces BOTA76
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Enigmatic Green
LASHES:  Angel Rock Eyelash
EARRINGS:  [Modern.Couture] Jewelry – Crystal Earring Rose
GOWN:  Snowpaws– Libra Gown – Sanguine
LOCATION:  Ironwood Hills
POSES:  BAUHAUS

Heart On My Sleeve.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

red hot 1
You  know that old saying about wearing your heart on your sleeve?
What the hell does that even mean?   Everyone knows you have a heart right?  Or they can guess.  A good rule of thumb is that if you are alive, you have a heart in there that works but even if you are dead you still have a heart … unless you are dead and there is a big gaping hole in your chest.  The first place I would look would be on your sleeve … it might be there.    
I actually remember going through this as a kid.  By about age 5 I was pretty well convinced that adults were really scary people who were not only ridiculously stupid but they were dangerous.  Who put them in charge anyway??

red hot 2
My grandmother said it meant you let everyone know your emotions.  Of course her mantra in life, the one she had cross stitched onto her forehead was “Pretend you are a stone.”  She actually had me practice being a rag doll.  She told me to pretend I was stuffed with straw and just  lay there, no bones, let my body feel really heavy and say nothing.  I think, I could be wrong, that it was during one of those moments when she might have liked me or a nanosecond  . . . just a little.    I am probably wrong, wishful thinking.  She might have just used the opportunity of having to talk to me to reinforce the family motto . . . “Feel nothing, say nothing, nod your head if you understand.”
I failed Family 101.
My heart was on my sleeve.
The saying actually may have come from some Roman thing where the soldiers were better able to maim, torture and kill if they did not have a wife.  Wives are like that . . . just big stones tied around the necks of great men, making their lives hell by cooking, cleaning, having sex, babies, and picking up after their men.  Damn women.   So once a year the Roman soldiers were allowed to choose a woman to have as their “companion” for a year and they printed her name or wore something of hers on their arm.  They could have tattooed it but the men were such babies already, they did not want soldiers crying while they were torturing, maiming, and killing because their arms hurt from the tattoos.   You can see the logic in this .. . . No wives, but a woman for a year was so much better than a wife.  This way the woman could take care of them by cooking, cleaning, having sex, babies and picking up after their men.  THEN the men could kick them to the curb and pick a new woman. 
I highly doubt these men were soldiers as much as they were the precursors for dead beat husbands.  It is probably the science behind old wives cautioning us all not to wear our hearts on our sleeves.  They knew it would lead to lots of time in court and the unleashing of the hounds from hell who work at maintenance enforcement.  Old wives are wise and psychic.  Just look at Jackie Stallone.
Children,  DO NOT grow up wearing your heart on your sleeve!  It ruins the fun game you will love to play with your partner where you have to try and guess what the heck they even want.  Wasting time trying to please other people is a great way to spend decades of your life before you wake up one day miserable and unfulfilled so you’ll sign up for a retreat to eat bark and black mung beans mixed with raw sheep yogurt and have a half naked guy with a diaper on and robe made from flax and virgin sheep wool woven by an ancient tribe of peoples in the back hills of Nigeria where they also have a lot of money sitting around in banks waiting for people’s personal details so it can be claimed (what are we talking about?  Oh ya ..) who will tell you that you are a repressed unfeeling poop head and you need to loosen up, be real, live in the moment and learn to wear your heart on your sleeve.
red hot 4
That way people can get to know you.
And they might like you.
Or maybe not.
How will you know if their heart is not on their sleeve?
SKIN:  .Birdy. Elsa Skin  VIP xmas gift
 FEET:  SLink
HAIR:  *booN HYM015 hair
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Enigmatic Green
LASHES:  Angel Rock Eyelash
MAKEUP:  –Errant– Bolly Makeup 1C
GLASSES:  :: PM :: Cherry #7
JEWELLERY:  Chop ZueyGloriana Red Set
OUTFIT:  Snowpaws– Dhara Mesh Outfit – Cherry
SHOES:  :: Aleida :: Kampala stiletto  NLA