BloggingSL

A Second Life® Fashion & Community Feed

Global Warming

Previously posted at Blissimo.

global warming 1
We were allowed to buy a fish bowl and two fish once.
My brother got a black angel fish and named him “Vlad the Impaler,” and I got a little fairy like something fish with long fins.  I called her “Fluffy.”
My brother’s fish was all over the place, jerky movements, up, down, never content.  I am pretty sure he was a street fish and coming off of meth, or blow, or something like that.  He was antisocial and his family never called, ever . . . not even once.   My brother said he was a warrior and he was looking for other fish he could kill, rip their heads off, and impale on a spear.  He warned me that Fluffy didn’t stand a chance, it was just a matter of time.   

Fluffy was serene and gentle and probably not even of this world.  She was ethereal and calm and when she moved, angels sang.  Her family never phoned either, but that was because her parents were  the wind and the stars and her siblings magic and fairy dust.  Ok, at least believe me when I say Fluffy was a child of the universe and the universe was forever holding her in its loving arms.
That is what universes do.
There wasn’t any need to call.
I could tell that Fluffy was trying everything to help calm Vlad down.   If she had hands she would have laid them on him and healed him but all she could do was to vibrate her calm little vibrations out into their fish bowl and hope that it would help to bring him the peace he so desperately needed.  She was methadoning herself.  But Vlad just got more and more agitated like Grandpa did when he tripped over one of our toys and hurt himself and was swearing because the blood was spurting all over the place and Grandma would calmly come up to him and pat his arm and ask, “What’s wrong dear?” and then say things like, “I am sure you don’t need to use that kind of language to express your pain, what is wrong with ouch?'”   She always said it like she was half awake and she was cooing to a little kitten or something.   
Grandpa was not a kitten, not even when you were drunk, squinting,  and it was dark outside and he was wearing a kitten costume.
One morning when we got up, Vlad was gone.  Just disappeared.

There wasn’t any water anywhere, no breakage, no spillage, nothing.  One fish bowl in pristine condition, no disturbance in it whatsoever, and Fluffy … just swimming like the little angel she was.  Of course I got blamed but I refused to even touch the water let alone the fish.  I was big into anti-ickky activity at that point in my development.  There was no way I would touch a fish.  Then he blamed my cat.  He wanted to kill the cat but my grandma told him absolutely not, he could get another fish next time we went to the city.
I got my cat out of the house and into the cat underground.  There were people who saved cats from my brother and helped them escape to where they could be safe until the danger passed.
global warming 2
A couple of weeks later, when the fish bowl was being cleaned and one of the large shells was sitting on the towel alongside some of the other rocks and things we had in the bowl, I picked it up and a slimy black sludge slid out onto my hand.  I screamed, of course, and threw the shell across the room.   The black sludge had landed on my shoe and I could see it was the limp body of poor little Vladdy, with some huge bites taken out of its head.
I gasped and looked at Fluffy who was blowing me air kisses from the crystal  bowl she was waiting in while her home was being cleaned.
That’s why I believe in supernatural stuff now.  Clearly the fish were playing with a ouiji board one night while listening to hard rock  and Satan possessed innocent Fluffy and Vlad did not stand a chance.  She probably did not even have any memory of it, one because she had been possessed, and two because she was a gold fish. 

I know I should have told my brother but I couldn’t do that to him.  He was such a simple boy with such simple beliefs.  How could I destroy such sweet innocence, especially when he had just got a new fish . . . a little piranha he named Jack the Ripper?
I donated both fish to the cat underground people to feed the escapees.  I did it because Jesus had me as a sunbeam and sunbeams fight the devil wherever he might appear.  I saved the world that day, from Fluffy, from Jack AND my brother.    I did it because that is the kind of girl I am … one that loves all the pretty fluffy things of life, and believes in magic and fairy dust, but knows evil when she sees it and is not afraid to do something about it.  
Well, as long as it is not ickky and you don’t expect me to touch it.

SKIN:  .Birdy.Devon Skin ~Biscuit~ (Goldie)
PARTS:  SLink
HAIR:  rezology  Callisto (mesh hair)
EYES:   Egozy.Eyes Illuminate Turquoize
BROWS:  .LXB.Striking Brows Black
LASHES:  [Hush] BONUS Lush Lashes
EARRINGS:   (Kunglers) TDRF #051 – Earrings – Golden
OTHER JEWELLERY:  MevaMeiMei Set Gold
DRESS:  ISON – holo dress (cream)
SHOES:   ::ROC:: Bohemia Tassel Boot
PURSE:  ISON – holo bag (cream)


Visit http://bliss-imo.blogspot.com/2016/01/global-warming.html for original post date.

Life is a Race to The Finish Line.

Previously posted at Blissimo.

Snapshot_018a
You know when you are a kid and walking down the hall at school and then someone comes up and you realize is walking beside  you?  And then you speed up a little, and they speed up to keep up with you, and you speed up and pull ahead, then they are beside you again and you both look at each other and it is on!  He passes you, and you catch up, elbow him and move out front and finally you quite pretending to walk and break into a full neck run, at precisely the same second and before you know it, without a single word spoken between you, you are both heading for the finish line at the end of the hall, leaping over other students in your path, bursting through armfuls of books and NEEEEEEDING the win!   

How come there is no-one ever there to give you the first place ribbon?  That take a lot of skill and effort, and let’s face it . . . someone could have died.

Snapshot_020a
Sometimes the principal shows up before the finish line is reached, +and yells at you, “No running in the hall,” and and then you have to slow to a walk, still racing, either waiting for him to turn into a doorway and disappear so you can start running again, or doing the best imitation speed walking ever!   A win is still a win, regardless of the speed used to attain it.  
I was pretty competitive with sports.  I would run, fall, roll, get back up and keep running in order to be the first one to a ball.   I could take out a whole team on my way to that damn ball.   I never thought what I looked like.   I was in the zone and I wanted to win.  The boys were so impressed.  I would get down and dirty with the best of them.  I could bleed and you could not keep me off the field and you would never hear a whimper of the words, “I can’t.”  I could, I would, and I did!!  They let me play football with them every recess and we were all good mates.  They punched me and gave me noogies just like one of the guys.   And then suddenly you are in Jr. High and some air head blonde runs past the football field at recess and the stupid boys stop the game to watch her as she runs on her tip toes, breasts fighting the training bra, all pretty and everything.
It’s like the first time you realize that someone could run “pretty” and you hate her and all girls that wear dresses and fling their hair around and wear pink …   You actually cursed your entire gender and the stupid “sex ed ” class that announced to you all that you were on the brink of a magical transformation and welcomed you to your “womanhood.”
And you hate that the boys care more about how she looks running than they do about the fact you only have 2 minutes left to score and you have a great play in mind.   You hate that her training bra no longer fits her in a completely different way than how your grandmother announced you did not need one yet because it would not fit you when she insisted you try one on at the local hardware store even though you never asked for one.    You want them to remember you are awesome, and can intercept any ball, and that have broken their teeth on occasion and that you can outrun all of them except Gordon Anderson and he was provincial champ last year.   But they are standing drooling on their own shoes, and the ball is lying in the dust and you are on your own.
Like when and how did that happen?
And I would just like to point out it is a perfect reason why boys should not be athletes as they cannot handle the responsibility of athletics and they lack commitment .
And let’s not forget how easily they are distracted by trivial things. 
Snapshot_022a
If a man cannot keep his eye on the ball, and realize the importance of a ball, then he has no business having any balls … at all … ever.
Just my take on sports in general.
Your Welcome.
SKIN:  .::WoW Skins:. Charlize
PARTS:  SLink
HAIR:  rezology  Soma (mesh hair)
EYES:   Egozy.Eyes Illuminate Turquoize
MAKE-UP:  #adored– last night – smoke pack
JEWELLERY: [Modern.Couture] Jewelry – Healer Red
JACKET:  EmeryHatter Blazer Tango
SKIRT:  Emery Alicia Maxi Skirt Latte
SHOES:  {{BSD Design studio}}IT girl-shinning black
PURSE:  OVH.Leda Bag . Red
LOCATION:  Remarkable


Visit http://bliss-imo.blogspot.com/2016/01/life-is-race-to-finish-line.html for original post date.

Magical Moments

Previously posted at Blissimo.

iac1
We went to visit some people once.  I don’t know why.  If you knew someone years ago and never stayed in touch, I don’t get why people think it is a good thing to renew things.  Like maybe the people were doing you a favour and keeping Uncle Herman from eating another one of their good friends?  Maybe the people never liked you in the first place and they are just too polite to tell you that “no, they really have no interest in seeing you again.”  Maybe they only are having you over because they can’t remember who you are and have you confused with someone they actually like.  Or maybe, they forgot all about you  and they hate to miss out on an opportunity to rub it in someone’s face that they hit the big times.
Oh ya I know, maybe they really missed you too and are dying to have you come over. 
Get real, and stop reading my blogs ok?

iac2
We went to visit people that were from “way back” to my grandparents.  We drove for what seemed like 3 weeks to get there but any time confined in small places with my grandparents made time stand still so it might have only been 3 minutes, I don’t know.  When we got there everyone hugged and we were introduced and pushed into place and head patted until the adults went off to have coffee and left us with their absolute little snotball of a daughter – so we could “play” together and not be bothered with all the grownup talk that would probably “bore us to death.”
I know there are lots of ways to die.  I am of the opinion that being “bored to death” could be one of the least painful . . . I mean if you compare it to being boiled alive and eaten or something.
First of all it was the middle of stinking hot summer and she was in a pink fluffy dress with crinolines, hair curled in ringlets and bows in her hair with white patent leather shoes.   My brother and I were in cut offs, t-shirts and bare feet.  His hair was stuck to his head with sweat and mine was half in an half out of what used to be a ponytail on the back of my head but had drifted off to one side on the ride over.  (It is what happens when you ride with your head out the window racing along the hi-ways of life)
We looked at her, looking at us with disgust and yes, my brother and I took it on as a challenge.
She took us to show us her lop eared bunnies that her father had bought for her birthday.  Their “cage” was a pink and white house with shutters and painted rose bushes and a white picket fence around the “yard.”   One of the bunnies has been dyed pink and had a bow around its neck. 
Then she showed us her prize winning cat who had kittens, her baby ducks and chickens, her lambs, her baby pigs and  her minature horse and the little carriage her father made her to ride around in with him pulling her.  No,  we could not try it out because I was, “way too fat and she did not want the horse to die.”  Even though, of the 4 of us . . . she was clearly the heaviest.  (I included the pony in that calculation. )
By the time she finished showing us everything she had, with her nose in the air, and her condescending lilt in her voice, we pretty much knew what had to be done.  
Even cute baby animals have to go to the bathroom.
It was a really unfortunate accident that caused her to trip and fall, head first . . . and though we made every effort to help her up, we actually made it worse and by the end of it, she had been thoroughly rolled through most of it.  Pink fluffy dresses, white patent leather shoes, ringlets and bows just do not have the ability to stand up to …”doo doo.”   
She tried to say we had done it on purpose.  We both started to cry and hold on to one another doing our best imitation of being horrified at the accusation while conveying that we had almost died trying to save her.
Her mother was horrified.  I am not sure that she was as concerned for snotgirl as she was horrified that she might have to touch her to help clean her up.  I think she was wearing white gloves even.  Probably had them surgically attached to her hands permanently.  Anyway, she was not a big fan of “doo doo.”
She probably didn’t “doo-doo” at all.  She looked the type.
We suddenly had to go. 
iac3
I have a feeling that this was definitely one of those friendships best left in the “way back,” and people should probably lose the map.  Wondering “whatever happened to ….” is often much more fun than finding out.  I think my grandparents were actually kind of proud of us in a funny sort of way.  They never said anything, but we missed an expected visit with “Mr. Belt” and they bought us ice cream.
Sometimes we did exactly what we someone should “do,”   and then it is just magic.
SKIN:  ::[annaA]:: Skin “Debbie” -caramel
PARTS:  SLink
EYES:  IKON Kaleido Eyes – Oil
HAIR:  rezologyLow Braided Pigtails
NECKLACE:  (Kunglers) TDRF #037 – necklace – Copper
RING:  CircaInto the Woods Ring
TOP:  SASWildrose
SHORTS:  *COCO*_LaceTrimDenimShorts_LightBlue
SWEATER:  Leverocci [Belgravia] – Cascade Cardigan
SHOES:  Pure Poison – Bohemian Romance Sandals
PLANTS AND SEAT:  CircaBombay Retreat


Visit http://bliss-imo.blogspot.com/2016/01/magical-moments.html for original post date.

Left Out In The Cold

Previously posted at Blissimo.

s2
Living in a cold climate has lots of advantages.
When you are doing the big family dinner and you run out of fridge space – just open the door and voila – more fridge and even freezer space.  You never waste time waiting 3 hours for a cake to cool down so you can frost it.  You just have to be sure that you have someone stand guard against the crows, the magpies, foxes, coyotes, dogs, cats, skunks, mice, deer, wandering neighbours and the abominable snowman.
You always have extra ice – just make sure it is not yellow – unless the punch is lacking flavour or someone swallowed a jelly fish.  (It can ease the pain.)

s1
During that time of the year when all the relatives show up and hugging is going to happen, regardless of the gear you wear trying to prevent or at least discourage it, at least no-one is dripping sweat.  Here in Australia, the times we are most likely to get together as a family fall on the hottest days of the year.  The disturbing habit of hugging one another is only worsened by the fact ninety percent of the time people are sweating profusely and so are you.  For the love of God that alone should preclude any sane person from hugging.  Nope.
And ok, I might be able to recover emotionally from being sweat on by family, but by complete strangers?   And screaming and running away is apparently frowned on.  People take it as a great insult that you are declining their sweaty body from rubbing all over you.  And the worst part is when they tuck their head in your neck crook and you feel them dripping down your back.
When it is that hot, everyone is half naked anyway.  You can’t even grab a towel and wipe away where they touched you, or hose yourself off, or run to the shower.  Evidently there are rules about how long one must appear to have enjoyed the hug and allow the sweat to remain on the body.  Like maybe 1 hour is considered polite but 59 minutes and 59 seconds is rude.  And believe me someone at the party will have a timer.
Which is why I drink at Australian get togethers . . . a lot.  And then I accidentally “fall” into the pool.  Usually right after the hugging has taken place, and sometimes before.  People don’t want to hug me then because I am sopping wet.  Obviously pool water is way more “ewwwy” than human sweat.
If you have a big meeting and are all nervous in Canada, you can go outside and cool off.   Freezing cold is great for cooling off tempers and rambunctious kids.  It is also great for accidental freezings.  If you happen to tell your brother he needs to cool down when you are in the car, miles away from home, and send him outside, without his winter gear . . . you can even make magic happen. 
s3
That’s how I became an only child.
The magic of the frozen wasteland and the people who know the joy of cold.
SKIN:  .::WoW Skins::. 2016 Ayah Bronze
PARTS:  SLink
EYES:  IKON Kaleido Eyes – Oil
LASHES:  *GA* Mesh Lashes Magnificia
TEETH:  **SHINE** Prim Teeth Human PACK
HAIR:  Magika [01] Reading
DRESS and JACKET:  {AnaMarkova}Mandalay Fall Skirt Set Dotty
JEWELLERY:  Aphrodite FashionsGoddess Dark Silver jewelry set
GLASSES:  [KASA] Glasses “Simple trick”
BOOTS:  GandDAnkle Boots Victoria Damask Black


Visit http://bliss-imo.blogspot.com/2016/01/left-out-in-cold.html for original post date.

A Hole in One, or Two . . .

Previously posted at Blissimo.

bsbb1
Holes in the pants as fashion.  
I tried that with nylons.  The first time I got a run in my nylons, my grandmother looked down at my legs and gasped so loud everyone turned to see what the problem was.  She was an expert at making it look like it was me by scolding me to be quiet.  She pointed at the hole in my nylons in complete disgust.  I tried to argue that this is what happens when you have to scoot down an old wooden bench in church.  Why is that no-one walks to where they want to sit and then sit down?  What is the point of sitting down at the end and scooting along  like complete idiots?  And why was she yelling at me, take it up with the janitor who hadn’t polished the damn things enough to keep all the little bits and pieces shellacked into place.

She took me by the arm and marched me to the outhouse, through the snow.  Nothing like an outhouse in the middle of a barren winter field behind the church in the middle of a barren winter field because back in the pioneer days all the farmers wanted to be fair.  Instead of building a picturesque church in the middle of the town, they got in their horse and buggies from all their farms and rode inward until they met up … you guessed it . . . in the middle of nowhere!!  THAT was where they built the church. 
75 years later it was still in the middle of nowhere with no running water, hence the outhouse. Apparently no-one ever wanted to live in the middle of nowhere, hence it was still in the middle …. of nowhere . . .   In the winter you prayed you would not freeze to death if you had to pee.  Sometimes they had to tie a line from the front door of the church to the outhouse so you could find your way back in a snow storm.   In the summer it was the smell and the flies that almost killed you.  No-one wanted to pee.  We became the thunder thigh generation of the prairies.  Most of us developed bladder problems from trying to hold on until church was over. 
My grandmother produced an extra pair of nylons from her purse.  Hers.  I think there is a reason they labelled those things extra small, small, medium etc.   It was way before the invention of “one size fits all, that’s for sure.”  There was no way her extra large was ever going to fit my stick legs.  Didn’t matter how much nylon the garter belt could hold, they still make my legs look like I suffered from some type of elephant skin condition.    Me shuffling back to my seat, nylons puddling from my shoes onto the floor was damn attractive.  THIS was preferable to a teeny little snagged hole that she assured me would run eventually.
A girls reputation evidently could never recover from wearing nylons with a run in them.
Those damn nylons often ran as soon as you clipped them in.  No point in ever buying one pair . . . you needed at least 3 pair to make it through the night.   Then they came up with pantyhose and the whole trying to sell them to us because they came in a nifty plastic”egg” so someone could make a bundle off the play on words .  “Legs” and “eggs” became “l’eggs.”  We didn’t have adult coloring books back then, we took our creativity in whatever way it came . . . sometimes, like in this case, driven to it by insanity.
I had kids by the time people started embracing ripped nylons as fashion.   
Not sure why we just don’t go naked and tell people that we were dressed when we went out in the morning and the holes just took over.  We have more holes than clothing, and if you do Second Life, now with mesh, most everyone you see is completely naked anyways.    PFFT … like they actually have clothes on in THEIR viewer, or their dress looks great with their settings and windlight.  It kind of makes you wonder why everyone got all bent out of shape over the “adult” sim being kept away from the kids and general public.  Hide the boobs, vaginas and penises from the kids and the church going folk!!! 
I haven’t seen a fully dressed avatar anywhere I land in Second Life for Ages.
The “holes” are taking over, in more ways than one.
SKIN:  .::WoW Skins::. 2016 Anais BronzeHAIR:  Magika – 01 – Hearts Like Ours
EYES:  IKON Kaleido Eyes – Oil
LASHES:  ATIA’sWhisper Lashes
MAKE-UP:  #adored– last night – smoke pack
EARRINGS:  Indy and Co.  Maelle
KNOTTED SHIRT:  Tee*fyLaura Unbuttoned Knotted Shirt White
LEGGINGS:  _CandyDoll_Asuna Leggings Rose
SHOES:  N-core LACE “Pale Pink”
  


Visit http://bliss-imo.blogspot.com/2016/01/a-hole-in-one-or-two.html for original post date.

All’s Well That Ends Well.

Previously posted at Blissimo.

sis 3a
When you move to a small town community, women don’t tend to dress up much. 
Well, actually, compared to the many times they appear to roll out of bed and onto the floor, discover some rumpled clothes under the bed, pry off what food can be pried off, attempt to wear something that might not even be theirs,  tear a few strategic holes to make it fit . . . They do sometimes put more effort into it.

sis 2a
Brushes are just unnecessary extra luggage.  Uncombed hair can help to cover early baldness, small nesting birds, and head lice.
So, if a woman here actually combs her hair and puts dress on for an event . . . we should give them credit.  They started wayyyyy back of the starting line where a city woman might.  If you measured the actual distance they probably are on par with the women who start off with hair done, their base being clothes from their closet or drawers, and some thought as to how the overall appearance impacts society.
I admire the women who could care less.  The ones who have  hair everywhere and don’t bother with worrying about anyone else’s ability to eat their lunch when they lift their hands above their heads and little hairs are caught by the wind . . . and shared.   They are free from any social constraints and for all I know they are probably saving the whales, starving children, and negotiating world peace while the rest of us shop for mascara.  The unfashionable, “we don’t care-ers” have always been among us.  They used to call them “lazy.”  Then they were “hippies,” and then “rebels,” “free spirits,” “off griders ,” “naturalists” etc.  We just basically have discriminated against them and called them a bunch of names … Forever.   It is a talent gene we hand down along with our ability to try and kill anyone that thinks differently.
I like to shock them all and dress up even when I am just going to get the mail.  The high heels over the grass can be a bit tricky and the crows do try to take some of the sequins from my dresses but I have learned the art of using jewellery as a weapon.  It is an act of community service, attempting to shame them into caring more about how they look and how that impacts the property value around here.  You know how sometimes you have this idea in your head how things are going to be and then reality kapows you in the face and it is not at all like you thought it would be but sometimes that ends up being the better thing anyway?  It’s kind of like God saying “you stupid twat” and then saving you from yourself and making for a really happy ending!
sis 1a
When I dress up for special events I get called names and people try to kill me.
It makes me feel special, welcomed, like I am finally part of the family.  We are all just people trying to get by, judging one another and making regular attempts to take one another out.
SKIN:  Glam Affair – Luna skin – Asia Tone – 06
HAIR:  .:EMO-tions:. * PRIA * B+W-pack
EYES:  IKON Kaleido Eyes – Oil
LASHES:  ATIA’sWhisper Lashes
MAKE-UP:  * Baiastice_Illegal lipstick Bi colours
JEWELLERY:  (Kunglers Extra) Nightbloom – Rainbow
GOWN:  Iridescent Satin Bandage Gown from MARIPOSA~house of couture


Visit http://bliss-imo.blogspot.com/2016/01/alls-well-that-ends-well.html for original post date.

I Was Hip And Aware Once.

Previously posted at Blissimo.

shadow dancing 1
The whole sheep look was big when I hit my teens.

We were not into neat wool or coloured and reconstructed wool made into cable knit moose cardigans or curling sweaters.  We wanted the sheep with the  “just got out of bed look.”  We were all about the natural back in the day, which of course completely explains tie dyed clothes, destroying really pristine jeans and making them look weathered and torn, and of course drugs.  But they were drugs we got from the health food store of drugs . . . not some big chain of careless drug dealers who probably mistreated the chemicals and plants and forced slave labour to get them into cute little baggies.  Our drugs had no added preservatives or colourings and were grown in virgin soil in the mountains by monks that chanted and meditated while they worked and who washed their hands in yaks milk before they even got started.  
Just so we are clear that we were responsible drug users.

shadow dancing 2
We liked the “out of control” wool and hair on our jackets and boots and our vests.  We were big into vests.  You could shred anything and as long as you could put your arms in it .. you had a vest.    Vests could really make any outfit pop . . . especially ripped distressed jeans and dirt . . . our favourite fashion combo back in the day.
I found a vest.  I was walking around in a wheat field one day and I found it lying there and that is when I knew that God was real.  I had prayed for some cool clothes so that I could kick Shirley Anne Mastersons butt in the fashion parade held every morning in the girls washroom.  It was unspoken and no actual physical contact was ever made but many a young girl’s self esteem was left shredded and bloodied on that bathroom floor.  It was all in the eyes, the toss of the head, and the subtle snorting that only women can hear.  We would gather every morning and eye each other up and down to see what we were wearing and if you were the best dressed everyone else was your friend that day . . . or they tried to kill you.  We risked it all for a chance to be popular.  We were tough and willing to take the risk.  We DIED to be popular when I was growing up, back in the day, after we finished walking to school barefoot in the snow, uphill … both ways.
Finding a vest in the field was proof that God loved me most.  I knew that some of the other kids had prayed that God would let a mad cow trample me to death or that a runaway combine might combine me to death.  God had options.  He could not answer both prayers and not get caught out, at least not unless the people praying were really stupid and I guess it does happen sometimes.  I prayed really hard.  I concentrated so hard and shut my eyes so tight that had I been pregnant, I would have birthed a whole tribe of babies.  
I wasn’t and I didn’t BUT God had clearly appreciated the effort.  It was either that, or somehow my pet cow “Fluffy” that had died the previous year and who loved me dearly had pulled a coup in heaven, had taken over the prayer machine and was answering prayers.  She would have given me anything I asked for.  
I picked it up, thanked God AND Fluffy (just in case) and took it home.  It was a bit dirty so I washed it and fluffed it up a bit and realized it was a miracle because it actually turned kinda pink in the process.  It was like on TV when they put a crown on a princesses head and it shines and everyone knows that she is the fairest in the land . . . except it was vest and couldn’t really shine so it was pinking.
I proudly wore it to school the next day.  Talk about making a statement.   When everyone saw me they  stood back and could not even speak.   I rocked the day . . . until my brother ruined it all.
shadow dancing 3

I got off the bus and was like, “IN YOUR FACE!!  Did you see the way everyone was looking at my vest?  Too Bad Fluffy God did not love you as much as he/she does me and what did he/she drop  out of heaven for you?  NADA!!  NOTHING!!  ZIPPO!!”   I may have gone a little overboard, dancing around taunting him.
He just stood there looking at me and said, “You know you are wearing a dead sheep right?  We lost it about 3 weeks ago and didn’t know where it was.  From the smell, I figure the one you are wearing is about that dead.”
That moment when you realize that they aren’t arm holes at all and that you put your arms through the body of a dead sheep and the pinking was not a lovely extra but dripping blood . . . 
Nevermind that God really does hate you and that Fluffy was a schmuck.
I really don’t wanna talk about it anymore.
I have dead sheep cooties.  You never get over those in your life . . . never . . . 
SKIN:  Lara Hurley Skin – Ale
BODY PARTS:  Slink
EYES:  Egozy.Eyes Illuminate Green
HAIR:  *booN HYM015 hair
OUTFIT:  LUXEParis LILI BLUES Dress
HAT:  Zibska[Group Gift] ~ Rui Noir
JEWELLERY:  (Kunglers Extra) Divinae – silver
SHOES:  [MODA] DIANA GATOR HEELS ~BLACK (ON9 SPECIAL)
SKIN:  DeeTaleZSkin A.T.W. Faith as Amphitrite Mixedtype
BODY PARTS:  Slink
EYES:  .ARISE. Nona Eyes / LightBlue
LASHES:  Silhouette Babydoll
EARRINGS:  Ariskea  { Indies } Earrings Collections – Green
HAIR:  AD– multipass – splash
PANTSUIT:  Asteria  – Eleanor Strap Jumpsuit – [Lagoon]
JACKET:  Asteria – Eleanor Fur Coat – [Blue]
SHOES:  *TOXIC* – Ultra Stiletto AQUA
  


Visit http://bliss-imo.blogspot.com/2016/01/i-was-hip-and-aware-once.html for original post date.

The Reason for The Season and Why You Thought I Died.

Previously posted at Blissimo.

vw 3
I escaped over the past few months.  I slipped off the restraints and ran naked into the night.
Ok that sounds a lot more poetic than it actually was.  I packed and drove to the airport.  Then I came back, only I had a bunch of shit to do and ya … Christmas . . .
Anyway I am sure many of you are lying on your death beds waiting for some word that I have returned so consider yourself worded.  I have returned.

vw 2
Running away used to be fun.  First there was that panic in the adults voice if you disappeared because they were still so sleep deprived and possibly on post natal drugs, that they believed you were some angelic being that transformed their life into little shimmering lights of meaning.  Of course I am talking preteething and pretwo-year-old. 
Then you hit the sweet spot of hours spent playing hide and seek and developing it into a game of real skill and hoping to be the last one found so you could hide again and also forever lord it over your brother that you could hide better than him.  We were so easily convinced we were awesome back then.
Eventually you got to where you used those skills to sneak away in the middle of the night to try out all the things you learned in sex ed.  Again, the object was not to be found, but you almost always were because parents had a beam that shot out of their noses that tracked you.  They don’t have that anymore because technology has rendered the nose tracking beam useless .. like the appendix.  Now no-one knows what that beam is for and lots of people get operated on because doctors think it interferes with sunshine making it to your ass and a lot of people were complaining that their cult following is not what it used to be.
Then after you had kids who were past teething and you had experienced the two year old in all their splendifourous glory, you tried to hide from your kids so you could just have a moment to yourself .. . to maybe pee without an audience.  I got so I could handle my own kids wandering in to the bathroom but drew the line at the neighbourhood kids following mine in and gathering around the toilet to inform me that “Crystal and Travis want to know if they can have a popsicle.”  (ever notice how onlyafter you give one to Crystal and Travis, it comes up that your child wanted one too?) 
And then something strange happens.  You aren’t even trying to hide . . .  and no-one can find you.  No-one is even looking for you, not even when you are standing right in front of them.  The whole euphoria of hiding well only happens when you put effort into it, not when you just wake up in the morning and walk out into the kitchen and no-one can “find” you.  For some reason that feels oddly hurtful.
Life is about never having the skills you need when they would be awesome.  You get everything cool when it no longer matters.  Like now I could eat all the ice cream I want, any flavour, any time, all day if I wanted to.  Except now I hate ice cream.  No-one tells you that when your parents tell you to “not right now, wait a bit,” before you can have it, they mean if you wait long enough, you won’t even want it.  How is that fair?  I never got to just eat ice cream with wild abandon and feel amazeballs.
vw 1
So ya, I accept that I have finally succeeded at being the best hider in the world.  I have successfully been able to run away from the attention and view of my own family and friends.  I have to believe that, otherwise the only other possible explanation is that they have all gone blind, their tongues were taken in some violent crime they protected me from by never telling me about it, and their hands have fallen off so they can no longer type or hold a phone. 
That and they no longer love me.  Or they never did.

So how was your Christmas?  I have a whole bunch of mouldy Christmas cookies in the jar if you wanna drop by.  Ignore the bodies on the roof.  I got a bit depressed at Christmas and you know how they say that anger can be a sign of depression?  Santa, two or three of the elves, and eight of the reindeer paid the price.
SKIN:  Swallow Gwen 07
BODY PARTS:  Slink
EYES:  IKON Kaleido Eyes – Oil
LASHES:  ATIA’sWhisper Lashes
EYESHADOW:  ATIA’sNight Frost Eye Shadows
TEETH:  Open Mouth Tattoos by ATIA’sHeartbreaker
HAIR:  *ARGRACE*Sarah – Dark Browns
SUIT:  !gO!jacket&frill skirt -dots turquoise
HAT:  {amiable}TSS 1year Anniversary  Gift Beret
PURSE:  Zenithrattan bag
SHOES:  Bens Boutique – Sakura Pumps Pack 2
POSES:  Bauhaus
SKIN:  .::WoW Skins::. 2016 Lisana Bronze
BODY PARTS:  Slink
EYES:  IKON Kaleido Eyes – Oil
LASHES:  ATIA’sWhisper Lashes
TEETH:  Open Mouth Tattoos by ATIA’s Cute
HAIR:  +elua+Brenda_Ombre
GLASSES:  HAYSURIZA_Glasses_Boston_(Red)
EARRINGS:  b o d y & b e a u t y [ Kayla Mesh Earring ]
SKIRT OUTFIT:  WICKED * Ginger – Outfit
JACKET:  ::K:: A/W Car Coat Femme Corduroy-Ivory
BAG:  =Zenith=Debris bags (brownish tan
SHOES:  Bens Boutique – Sakura Pumps Pack 2
POSES:  Bauhaus


Visit http://bliss-imo.blogspot.com/2016/01/the-reason-for-season-and-why-you.html for original post date.

It’s That Time of The Year Again.

Previously posted at Blissimo.

wiv2
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.

wiv3
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.
wiv1
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 –
BODY PARTS:  SLink
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

Visit http://bliss-imo.blogspot.com/2015/08/its-that-time-of-year-again.html for original post date.

A Perfect Field Flower.

Previously posted at Blissimo.

ronl1
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.

ronl3
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. 
ronl2
I don’t know why the invitations to attend stopped after that. 
I was just getting started.
SKIN:   .:WoW Skins::. V2 Masha
BODY PARTS:  SLink
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
  

Visit http://bliss-imo.blogspot.com/2015/08/a-perfect-field-flower.html for original post date.

%d bloggers like this: