A Second Life® Fashion Feed

I Am Not Dead Yet, But It Could Happen At Any Moment.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

I think I ate a bug  . . and I might die.
I was home alone, calmly eating an apple.  I am allowed to do things like that alone … at home .. . unattended …. on my own.   And I bit into the apple and took a big bite.  Then I chewed and chewed and swallowed and then the phone rang or something – I can’t remember all the exact details because I am suffering with PTSD from the whole thing and my therapist said that I have probably blocked some of it to prevent myself from being triggered and losing it all over innocent people’s heads.  
When I got back to my work and the half eaten apple lying on the desk, I almost died.  I had bitten through to the core and what was clearly a grotesque, rotten, slimy mess, black and orange and grossly grotesque, that had been created by some kind of bug/worm … thing.  (I had to type and retype “thing” 473 times just now because my hands are shaking so bad from the memory)

I started to scream and dance up and down , running around in circles … on my chair.  Then I remembered a show I saw where someone got bit by a snake and they said you should lie as still as possible so you slow down the spread of the poison in your blood. 
So I lay down on the floor.  I closed my eyes.  I was still screaming because that show never said anything about screaming and it is what I do.  I kept trying to image the bug/worm thingy being surrounded by my powerful thoughts – each one with a big pitchfork, forcing the bug to not move.  But, then I thought, what if it lives there and has babies?  And what if I end up with a whole colony of bug worms living in me?  What if I have to run away and join a circus and be the “bug lady?” 
So then I knew what I had to do.  I had to throw up and NOW.  I ran to the bathroom and stuck my finger down my throat.  Again and again, and then I cursed myself for not being more friendly with those girls in high school or at least paying more attention to them in the bathroom.  How many freaking fingers does it take?  Which fingers?  Does it matter?   It took f-o-r-e-v-e-r!!
The bug/worm probably had 153 babies in the time it took to throw up.
But then, I looked in the toilet and thought about the 4 big bites I took and did I throw up all of it?  How much does 4 big bites (plus one bug/worm thing ) look like when it is all chewed up and partially digested?  How would I know when I had thrown it all up?  Does the last bite come up first or does the first bite come up first?  What if I just threw up all the apple and not the bug/worm thingy?  I couldn’t see a bug/worm thingy anywhere but then, what if I chewed it all up and now I had bug juice everywhere inside me?  What hope did I have of vomiting up every last drop of bug juice?  I was going to die.
I got up and took the apple to the kitchen.  I had to cut it open and see if the bug was in there.  I didn’t want to.  I had to.  I didn’t want to.  I had to.
Somewhere in the midst of all of that, the apple got cut in half and I vomited some more – sans the fingers.  Make a note of this, When you think you have eaten a bug/worm thing because there is rot in your apple, DO NOT cut it open, unless of course, you cannot make yourself throw up with the fingers, then it may be the smartest thing to do.
So when hubby got home I was crying so hard he couldn’t understand me trying to tell him that I ate a bug/worm thingy.  I don’t think he fully understood the trauma of not being able to throw up when you wanted to, or that there was no hope of removing every drop of bug juice. I hate bugs.  I hate worms.  I hate thingys.  I don’t like to ever touch those things and now one was probably inside me … touching everything!! He had problems understanding me partly because I was sobbing hysterically and partly because he was laughing hysterically.
That is not a caring thing to do.
And no, pictures and articles on the internet telling me that stomach acid is stronger than battery acid and nothing would live in there did not help because, “hello tape worms???”
Life has gone on.  I am not dead, yet.   But life will never be the same.  I have lost my innocence, my belief in myself.  I am afraid to eat alone.  I want to hire one of those people who taste your food before you do to make sure it is ok.  I have been on the phone all week trying to convince one of the kids to move back home.  They have had a good life.  It is time to give back.
SKIN:  –Glam Affair – Skye – Asia 06
HAIR:  “”D!va”” Hair “Naomi”
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Illuminate Brown
LASHES:  Angel RockPhilisia
TOP:  FP FRENCHIE Short Top blue stripes
SKIRT:  FPKRISTIANE Tutu Skirt Navy 2-pack
EARRINGS:  MG – Earrings – Amalfi Summer Nights
RINGS:  [CIRCA] Blog Pk – Sacred Lotus Rings & By The Pond Items Gatcha
SHOES:  Pure Poison – Ingrid Pumps
POSES:  Slouch

Look Up!

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

I don’t think anyone has ever looked up at the clouds in the sky and seen me.
People see elephants and kittens and an old man.   No-one says, “Oh wow, doesn’t that look like Bliss?  That beautiful cloud over there, the one that looks all amazing fashionista and stuff?”  Well at least if they have, no-one has told me they have.

So this a blog post to ask all of you who have undoubtedly had, what can only be described as a beautiful, magical experience, to let me know.  You should go ahead and write to me now and tell me about it.  This can be like a pretend blogger challenge, only I am going to help heal the world and take the walls down and invite anyone and everyone.  No more, “bloggers only” challenges.  You don’t even have to have a computer.  You can send the pictures you draw and colour.  You can get your mom to do it for you.
Send me what it was like, who you were with and what everyone was wearing.  Tell me about how it changed your life.  I will draw you a picture of me and send it back to you so that you can tape it to the dashboard of your car.  Just move those Saints and stuff out of the way and tape me in there.  Let’s transform our adoration and stuff.  Give it all to me.
I would be willing to do that for all of you.
Because that is just the kind of girl I am … all giving and shit…
Oh, Oh, Oh … and if you see me in your toast or mashed potatoes …. you should share that too.
You could start a whole tumblr account on sightings of me and the magic that it brings.
Some people say sometimes when I am just sitting there … I sparkle.
That is pretty much proof that you are reading the wrong blogs people.   There is no way those other fashionistas sparkle.
BODY:  .:WoW Skins:::. V2 Vanny Bronze
HAIRS:  Magika [01] Meadow
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Illuminate Brown
LASHES:  Angel RockPhilisia
JEWELLERY:  Chop ZueySea Mist
GOWN:  Petite Mort– Putty Violetta Gown 

Snapping Out Of It.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

on the porch 3
I think I am basically out of control.
Can’t concentrate, start a million things, finish none, can’t focus …
My inventory is all over the place, I am wayyy behind in all my blogging, I am behind in emails.
I am not eating, not really interested in doing anything.   I have made a tent fort in my office and I am kind of living in it.   I stay in my jammies some days . . . all day . . . 
But then it hit me.  Such an easy peasy solution! 
on the porch 2
I figure the best thing for me … is to buy one of those collars.  You know the ones where you put them on and suddenly you just do whatever you are told to do?  I mean I could skip the whole headache I get when I wake up and try to remember the things I am supposed to do next.  I mean I could multi purpose use the collar right?  I don’t HAVE to be naked and kneeling everywhere, I could use it to be the boss of Bliss and tell her to get busy right?   I could get her to just calm the heck down, brush her teeth and start shopping again.   
My real life hubby thought it was a great idea and suggested that he would be willing to help me catch the hang of how those things work by trying a real life one.  I pointed out there are no real life collars you put on where you can force a person to kneel naked, or to do weird positions, or fetch your beer,  but he said you could improvise with a nice choker and a cattle prod.
The gleam in his eye scared me a little . . . at first … and then I kind of got excited.
And then, I completely forgot about Bliss and my inventory and all that stuff.
I am even further behind than I was before.
Who has time to even log on to the computer?
on the porch 1
Kneeling is a lot more fun then it may appear on your computer screen  through old Sunday School type glasses.

And I have calluses on my knees.
BODY:  DeeTaleZSkin A.T.W. Kimber [Makeup] Mixedtype
HAIR:  Bens Hair  Style – Cyrista Hair
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Illuminate Brown
LASHES:  Angel RockPhilisia
DRESS:  =Zenith=Bohemian tie a knot long skirt (Blue)
SWEATER:  DeeTaleZTops MESH cardigan snow
SHOES:  NX-Nardcotix MANA Vixie Nutmeg

Some Women Wear Dresses On The Football Field of Life.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

We had a set of twins in our school who were a cross between dolls, nerds and little orphan Annie.  They were like a couple of older English ladies, sitting in front of the telly rugged up in sweaters and colourful stockings with their permed, just shy of frizzy, hair.
And they finished each other’s sentences.
I liked them because they were oblivious to how weird everyone else thought they were.  And they were weird – when you consider all that means is that in comparison to the norm … they were not that.
I sometimes opened a window on the school bus and stuck my head out, gasping for fresh air … something … anything . . .  different from the norm.

One year our school announced we would have a girl’s football team.  First we were excited.  Then we counted the number of girls that attended our high school.  After that we spent some time trying to convince our coach that some of the girls in Jr. High and at least 3 in Elementary could pass for High School girls.  When that failed, we tried to convince them that some of the boys had bigger boobs than most of the girls in High School and they could pass for girls.  Turns out the coach had just been made deacon at church and did not want to go to hell.  We were stuck with what we had.
So I scouted.  If we could not convince enough girls to play, we could not have a team.  I LOVED football.  The only thing better than being allowed to have a school team for the girls would have been being allowed to play on the boy’s team.  I played with the boys every recess – whatever sport was being played.  In the beginning I was allowed because my brother insisted, and then they let me stay because I earned their respect.  Of all the sports, football was second only to basketball.   I became best friends with all the nerds, the tip toers, the prissy girls, the shy and the fragile girls.   I convinced them all that they were superwomen.  They were MY superwomen.  We the defence team were going to be THE backbone of the team.
I convinced those girls that we were not being snobbed by the other girls, we were snobbing them.  We lived football.  I praised them up and down.  I did not let the fact that the princess cute fuzzy headed twins showed up to practice in dresses and coloured tennis shoes, deter me.  I encouraged them to wear a dress to the game if they wanted to.  Their jerseys would fit over top of them.
I just want to say that those twins were our secret weapon.  No-one took them seriously and yet when I told them I wanted them to forget everything else, everyone else, and shut down the one opposing player that we could not contain, they did the job.  I had to call them off.  They carried her off the field on a stretcher.  The twins picked the grass and rocks out of each others hair, straightened their dresses, and kicked the scattered teeth out of the way.  They may have pranced on and off the field, chatting with their closest friend who walked on her tip toes, but no-one was laughing at them anymore.
We may have thought we had to teach them about football, but they actually taught us about what it takes to be a woman.  Just because they didn’t play football did not mean they couldn’t.  Real women don’t give a damn what kind of outfit life gives them in terms of a body or whether everyone else approves.  They work it.  They live in their own skin.  We all played sports because perhaps we had something to prove, to ourselves, to others.  Those girls didn’t have to prove anything to anyone.  They were awesome and they knew it. 
We have the football trophy to prove it.
BODY:  Lara Mesh Body  Maitreya
MESH HEAD:  [whatever] Ellie Mesh Head – Nr. 10 –
HAIR:  *Dura-Boys&Girls*55(Dark Brown)
EYES:  IbanezSmoothGlow Eyes – Algae
LASHES:  ~Hush~ Lashes – Doll
DRESS:  .::Dead Dollz::. Vesper – Black  for LARA MESH BODY
EARRINGS:  Pink AcidHalf Crescent Moon Earrings – Gold

Don’t Try This At Home.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

Don’t try to run away with a baby animal.
It may look cute in real life and everyone is going “aww” around the computer, but it sucks big time.
First of all they have no sense of the “are we there yet” part of travel, that helps to remind everyone that people need to stop and go to the bathroom.  Animals don’t stop when they bathroom.  They can’t tell you.  They don’t hold on for 5 more minutes.  They just go. 
They don’t understand “share” or   “make last.”  They just understand “eat now,” “eat it all,” and “I am a fawn, I can kick you to death and hoof that donut right out of your mouth.”

They always back wash into your drink.
You can carry a bunny, a kitty, and even a small dog if they are tired.   Not so easy to carry a deer, a cow or a polar bear.  They will not return the favour and carry you when you are tired.  They will jump on you or even leave you and go off and have fawn fun without you.  If someone pets them and feeds them, they won’t give you a nano thought  as they chow down, nor will they confess they have already eaten when they return and you are eating the last of your granola bar.  They will probably complain that the half you gave them is not as big as yours.
They have big eyes that blink and make you feel like a horrible human being for wanting to sleep on the blanket when they have to sleep on the ground. 
They don’t do “share. ” They also are not impacted by your sad eyes, no matter how often you blink them.
They don’t actually talk like in the Disney movies, neither do they have lots of other animal friends that they can call on when you are in trouble.  They pretty much stand there and watch while you get beat up, or they see whether anyone else in the car has food or can be turned with big blinking eyes.
They grow up and attract a lot of attention.  The PETA people show up because someone complains that you are making a deer sleep in the park at night with just one crocheted blanket that barely covers them.  You end up being arrested.  The deer gets taken to a fabulous home for deer with constant deer buffets set out, fluffy warm deer bathrobes and slippers, and lots of other deer friends to hang out with.  Disney comes by and does a movie on them as this amazing deer that survived being kidnapped by a psychopath human being who held them captive in a park for months with hardly any food and just a crappy crocheted blanket to keep them warm at night.  It is a story of survival and everyone weeps for the deer and sends money and wants their picture taken with it.  The deer becomes a millionaire.  
You get sent back home, which is worse than jail.  Everyone hates you even more and you have to explain what happened to grandma’s blanket and what all the stains on it are about.     Then you are banned from all baby animals and are put on a PETA watch list and Facebook kicks you off because if you can’t post pics of baby animals … what point is there to your life???

SKIN:  .::WoW Skins::.  V2 Nour Bronz
HAIR:  Bens Hair Style – Almeda Hair
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Intense Collection
LASHES:  ATIA’s Whisper Lashes
PURSE:  =Zenith=Vintage Leather Handbag(Leather)
DRESS:  Vintage & Cool Fair – Gift Box (shine by [ZD])
JACKET:  (fd) Denim Jacket – Denim
Essenz – Lisbon (Cream)
POSES: Fly Lily

Strangers and Other Diseases

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

My mother in law was really upset the other day. I overheard her talking to hubby. She was really upset about a certain woman that kept coming up to her in public places as if she knew her.  It had happened again that day.   Hubby was struggling understand why she was so upset.
” Don’t you find it, I don’t know,  unsettling maybe,  when someone comes up to you and talks and you have no idea who they are, but they act like they know you?  I don’t want to be rude but it has happened so many times and I keep telling her that she has mistaken me for someone else, clearly.”

She had other reasons for her concern.   “At first I knew she had to be crazy, but I am getting older and I started to worry that maybe I was the one who was crazy.  Maybe my mind is going.  How is it possible that a stranger would walk up to me over and over again and insist they know me.  I mean she always singles me out, no-one else.  And she knows things about me.  It is really creepy.  How is that possible and I have no idea who she is.  I have never seen her in my life before she started stalking me.  Am I that unobservant, that uncaring, that shallow?  Or am I losing it?”   She was crying and poor hubby was doing his best to comfort her and reassure her that it was all going to be ok.
Hubby sighed and patted her hand and said,  “Mom,  that ‘strange woman stalker,’ was my wife.  We have been married for 16 years now.  See, look she is sitting over there on the computer!”
His mom craned her neck and strained to see me better.  “Oh My God, she has followed me home!!” 
It took awhile for him to talk her down off the table. 
We showed her the wedding pictures and gave her a small pic of me to keep in her purse so she could check it when she was out and that “terrible woman” came up to bother her again.
Later when we were alone, she leaned over to me and said, “You know, you don’t help the situation at all.”
“Really?  How?”
“Well you could stop being so strange.”
“OK, I will make a concentrated effort to reign that in.”  I swear my eyes were not rolling and the blood oozing from my clenched fists was from a paper cut I got earlier.
“Oh, and one other thing?  You could put more effort into looking like someone my son would marry.”
SKIN:  .::WoW Skins::. V2 Diva Bronze
HAIR:  [LeLutka]-LANA hair/Naturals
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Intense Collection
LASHES:  ATIA’s Whisper Lashes
CLUTCH:  REIGN.- Fringed Clutch- Tan
DRESS:  BENDER  KYO Mini Dress Copper
SHOES:  Essenz – Lisbon (Cream)
POSES: Fly Lily

In The Attic of my Life.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

in the attic 1
Nostalgia and heirlooms and antiques are not always what they seems.  Sometimes it is contrived.
A kid who falls in love with a vintage box and keeps their treasures in it can be considered an authentic case.  A kid forced to keep his grandmother’s skull on his book case – probably contrived.  Lots of families force their emotional crap on one another.  Road Shows – those British Auction type things that are on television – where they tell people their ugly painting that Uncle Bernard gave them is now worth 500 pounds – promote the scam.   They always give the impression that anything ugly, so ugly that you hide it in the crawl space, if left long enough, becomes worth a whole bunch of money.  And then they pretend, despite not having a single tooth left in their mouth, the person bringing it will never sell because what is food broken down into swallowable bits so your body can process it and sustain your life, really mean anyway?  You have an ugly picture of an eggplant on a dish.

Blankets are another one.  You know how suddenly every kid you see has some remnant of their baby blanket still on them?  The blanket they vomited all over and that acted as a safety diaper, catching that which the diaper did not . . . 
THAT blanket.
And their parents wash it and keep giving it back to their little sanitized hands.   The child falls asleep one hand clutching their sanitizing solution bottle (probably the same arm that has been vaccinated 438 times by the time they are 2) breathing in the sanitized and perfumed air, listening to sound designed to make them geniuses while they sleep, on their special self cleaning mattress and pillow . . .with their toxic little ragged bits of a baby blanket tucked in the other hand.
Metaphor for life, caught in the image of a sleeping child . . . ready for life . . . heading out with the equipment to keep them safe . . . and a chemical bomb.
Think about it.  We taunt our children. 
Blankets represent bed time or nap time . . . 2 things kids hate.  Doesn’t it seem cruel to you that when we have the energy to go , go go – 24 hours a day – they keep trying to ply us with warm milk and tuck us in?  They try to make us sleep 18 hours a day.   Then, when we are older and can do what we want and no-one even cares if we bathe, let alone drink warm milk and get  tucked in, we are lucky if we can stay awake for more than a couple of hours at a time.
I think God has a sick sense of humour.  He invented Pinterest and suddenly all these parents are posting pics of their child with their blanky bits, done in low lighting and fuzzy edged pictures and everyone is wiping their eyes and getting all nostalgic and asking their parents if they had a blanky and where it went to. 
Parents seem to flaunt their control over their kids – making us carry that damn blanky, the instrument of our torture, reminding us anytime, ANYWHERE, when we least expect it . . . they can put us to bed.  
in the attic 2
As soon as I realized it was another conspiracy, I burned my blanky.

My family stood around last night, during the burning,  and applauded and pretended to be proud of me but that did not fool me for one minute.   I knew they still wanted me to go to bed.

SKIN:  .::WoW Skins::. V2 Diva Bronze

HAIR:  [LeLutka]-MALEFICENT hair/
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Intense Collection
LASHES:  ATIA’s Whisper Lashes
FRECKLES:  .Oh!Liv. *Face Freckles*
FASHION BAG:  MULIER x 1992 // Obsidian Bag (Nude)
JEWELLERY:  (Kunglers Extra) Recife – Seashell
SWEATER:  A Piece of Chic-Diane Bourgogne
PANTS:  A Piece of Chic-Lola Bourgogne Pants’s
SHOES:  [hh]Edel Cracked Leather Pumps Fatpack (SLink High Feet)

She Just Looks Like A Plain Hulga

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

turblue 2
My brother insisted we play games of epic proportion.  He studied armies and battles like most other kids looked at comic books and sports.  He had distinct guideline blood oaths for game playing.  
Like the time we got caught in the creek, a couple of farms away, with the last of the jarred peaches, a bag of candy that was hidden behind the molasses and pearl barley in the tall cupboard over the fridge, a bunch of loose change that was kept in an old tin in the bottom drawer of Grandpa’s desk, and a can of black olives.
I was wearing an old tin bucket with a piece of metal stabbed through it.  The Biffster was wearing a fur dress which he insisted was a cloak but looked more like a skirt around his neck.  He also had an an axe, a shield, and a sword that probably could kill … with little effort … like if you breathed heavily anywhere near it.  Realism was everything to him.

turblue 1
He had ripped off the upper half of an old walking talking doll and nailed/wired it onto the front of the raft.  He was “Thor” and I was “Hulga.”  He informed me I was a plain, completely unprincess, Viking.   I did not have any input in the names.  The only thing I got to decide was how I was going to die because all his games ended with me dying some horrible death because well …. “trust no-one . . . ever!”  I think my brother confused all other human emotions with betrayal.  If he was hungry – I had betrayed him.  If he was frustrated because his fur skirtcloak got caught in the bushes – I had betrayed him.  I knew it was inevitable that I was supposed to die.
I think I feared he applied that to his whole life because I spent an awful amount of my childhood trying to convince him not to kill me.  I did nice things for him, carried his sword, reported back on any suspicious activities I observed, and always was on his team.   It is hard to carry a sword at Sunday School.  At least if I was on his team, I had a chance of still being alive when the adults rescued us buy calling us in to supper.
We went out that day to conquer “new worlds.”  The game plan was to sneak up on neighbouring farms and to “plunder and pillage.”  I had no idea what we would want or need to steal but I was not part of the meeting that decided those details.  When it was P&P time I was supposed to stay with the raft and let him know with the intricate bird whistle he had taught me, that danger was approaching.  That’s what the can of olives was for … to keep me busy while he Vikinged.  I love black olives.
Mostly our voyage involved a lot of him yelling out with a loud voice – at cows and frogs we passed, and also at me to push harder and warning me that if I was just going to be dead weight, he would throw me out right there and leave me to the blood suckers.  So I stood at the back of the raft and used the huge pole he had given me to push us as quickly as I could, while he and the decapitated doll head occupied the front of the ship and had some kind of private thing going on that Vikings named Hulga were not privy to.  I had wondered why I could not just be a guy – wasn’t that the same thing as an “ugly girl” anyway?  Hulga could never be a guy.  HE made up the rules.  He was only 9 and he was clear of the fact the men were more important than women and he was a man and therefore in charge of me.  All he had to do was keep me from ever being a man.  I think he probably broke some man rule by revealing that game plan to me.  I would testify at a tribunal if anyone wanted to have one on him.   I was subjected to so many war crimes.  There should at least be a mini series on me.
We were caught that day because the bull got out and the neighbour’s cows had to be rescued from his manly urges which  of course, no men are ever responsible for on account of cows throw their udders around so seductively, they entice the innocent bull with their shameless sexual teasing.    We came upon our grandfather and the other farmer arguing about fencing.  I am not sure but I think my grandfather was suggesting his cows needed to be covered if they were going to prance around his field like that . . .the field next to the one his bull was in.  The farmer was telling him something like his bull was bigger and could take him down with one horn tied behind his back.    Then they saw us.
The amount of bulls bellowing in that field .. whew .. It is a wonder I or the cows survived.
My brother gave a good story on Vikings, the need to conquer new lands, etc.  He admitted we took booty from the farm but we planned on returning home with more than what we took and of course we would have handed it all over to him.  Oh, and also . . . .  it was all my idea and he tried to talk me out of it but I was, as always, completely out of control … just look what I did to the beautiful doll my grandfather had given me for my birthday.
Me and the bull were taken home.  The bull was given a good rub down, comforting words and extra feed.  I was sent to bed without dinner, minus some layers from my backside.   My brother returned home the hero,  No-one thought it strange that he knew exactly where everything went when he returned them to where they had been hidden.  The next morning on the school bus my brother tried to convince me of the next escapade.  He said that I had passed the test and not revealed anything to the enemy and that I could have a spoon to wear in my belt.  My first Vikking weapon.  I think he expected me to break out in wild clogging and thank him.  
turblue 3
All I can say is he is darn luck he did not hand me the spoon then and there or he would have been found in a crumpled, spooned to death, heap in the middle of a corn field somewhere.  I have mad spoon skills.
Don’t ever underestimate the Viking heart of a really ugly Viking wench named Hulga.  This one never set foot on Thor the Weiner’s raft ship again and he never ever saw the great adventures that were once his, had he only recognized the princess like beauty of the Viking doing all the work.
I can buy my own olives whenever I want.
SKIN:  [PF] Morgana – Makeup #2
HAIR:  [ Love Soul] Hair*107*White Blonde
BROWS:  .LXB. Striking Brows Black
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Intense Collection
LASHES:  ATIA’s Whisper Lashes
JEWELLERY:  Beloved Jewelry : Demi Set in Silver w/ Emeralds & Alexandrite
DRESS:  !Finale Couture Jolie Dress – Aqua
SHOES:  !Finale Couture Jolie Heels – Sky

Run Rabbit, Run.

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

beyond the night 1
My brother decided that we should make our own fur coats one winter.  It was a combination of cabin fever  and insanity.  It had the makings of a really good horror thriller.  
It has been a long cold winter and my grandparents would have agreed to anything if it meant that we stopped saying “I’m bored” in the  great,  “does repeating “I’m bored,”  endlessly, produce exactly  the same results as dripping water in the Chinese Water Torture Experiment?”
That was what we were playing before my brother came up with the self made fur coat idea.

beyond the night 3
It meant we had to get fur coats.  It would have been nice if more animals could have just dropped frozen dead and lay there for us to gather them but if they did drop frozen dead, then it snowed, and blowed, and they were covered up and gone.   OR, some other farm kids down the way had already been playing the “let’s make our own fur coat” game and they were clearly way ahead … or cheaters …
We got a few rabbits, some cat, a bit of dog . . . and lots of patchy cows.  We had a nice fox but Grandpa said we had to give Grandma’s fur coat back as she was screaming that she wanted to kill us and knew where the guns were.   Also, someone else had already submitted it, and presumably won, for another game, another year.  I got out the rule book for the “make your own fur coat this winter,” board game and proved that there is nowhere in the rules it says you cannot incorporate an existing coat into a current coat, provided you do not present it in it’s entirety and that you rework it into a new design of which it is just part.   
If he had given me more time to craft the hand puppets so I could help him with the big words,  it would have been worth it.  I lost the half finished puppets in the snow . . . running for my life . . . away from the belt and my grandfather.
We decided to go with his rules.
He dropped us off in Saskatchewan and told us as we made our way back to the farm, we should find lots of fur.
There was probably not as much as you might expect.  The fur traders had a lot of cool stuff when they died and no-one saw that many rabbits or buffalo after they passed.  We do, however, have lots of interesting bobble heads for the dash of your car.
In reflecting back I am grateful that we did not study the Eskimos until the following year at school because my brother would have insisted we kill our own animals, and I chew down their skins until they were nice and fluffy.  Yes, that is the price of fluffy.  Next time you visit someone in Canada, and you see a fluffy anything, you look at the woman’s teeth.  If they are nubs in her mouth, with bits if fur caught in them, then you know.  Enjoy your fucking fluffy moose.
Canadian Women gave it all just so your car dash bobble head has some fluff on it.
Our fur coat ended up more like a cape . . .  about 1/8th of a cape that I ended up using as a barbie hunting lodge blanket for when I took Gi Joe up into the Mountains and we camped for the weekend.  (I always told my grandparents I was staying at Midge’s house.) The spring came, and even though there was plenty of fresh road kill, we had to get our fresh zuchinni, crab apples, lemonade and cow tipping stall open by the side of the highway for the influx of city folks heading out for a good time in the country.  
beyond the night 2
After that we were older . . . and better medicated during the winters.  That’s what happens when you grow up with medicine and science.  Hope.  And sometimes sanity is a part of that hope.
Other times . . . not so much . . .
SKIN:  [the Skinnery] Meysha – Bare face (toffee)
TEETH:  [:ME:] Sapphire Lips (04 Dark w/ Teeth)
MAKE-UP:  :F: Serious – EyeLiner + EyeShadow – Red
HAIR:  {fascino} Gorg DarkBrownColellection
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Intense Collection
LASHES:  ATIA’s Whisper Lashes
JEWELLERY: The Giada Set  Artistry by E
DRESS:  Snowpaws– Anastacia Rose Garden Dress
SHOES:  _CandyDoll_Gossa  Bloody – SLINK
POSES:  Epiphany

Social Motions

Previously posted @ Blissimo.

drive by 1
Don’t you think that “huggers” should adhere to some kind of hugger etiquette or that they should, at least, be policed in some form?
I find it awkward to stand around in a large group when a new person is introduced who happens to be a “hugger.”  You know exactly what I am talking about.  They show up, know no-one and presume it is alright to greet everyone with a hug.  First of all how do they know there aren’t committed huggers in the group who don’t adhere to open hugging?  How do they know anyone is open to hugging and that they are not some tour group out for the day from the institution where they are all being treated for a high startle response to human contact?  I mean someone could end up dead here.

And when you are the new person and clearly everyone hugs, how does it go?   Do you hug the ones you know best first? The host? Family? The people you like most? And what about skipping over someone and coming back to them? Like what is all that about? And how does one address a hugger who has clearly passed you over and comes back to you like they purposely left you for last?  Does it mean something bad or something good that you might actually consider bad, but they think it is a good?  And if you refuse the hug will you end up offending everyone . . . or again, dead?
Is neck nuzzling allowed in social hugs? A kiss on the cheek? French kissing? Like where do you draw the freaking line??
How much struggling is one allowed to do in an unwanted hug before it becomes a fist fight? Should one, instead, make every attempt to push away from the outstretched arms  or are you supposed to surrender at some point to save embarrassment and again … perhaps a life?   If the person falls, in the struggle … who should help them up? The most hugged, the first hugged, the unhugged, or the hugger?
Is it permissible to wear a sign that says “no hugging zone,” and what is the penalty for hugging the don’t-wanna-be-huggies?  Like can you carry a concealed weapon and when can you use it to protect yourself from a hug?
Frankly I think people who hug are a tad thick.  I mean if you can’t figure out that the person running from you in the parking lot screaming “NO NO, just stay away from me” does NOT want to be hugged … I mean come on.   “No” means “No.” And after the first 3 blocks …. seriously .. just stop!
drive by 2
I say, when you can’t get your people fix, you huggers out there, find a tree.  They may have bark but they don’t bite and I am warning you, I will, if you try to hug me one more time.
SKIN:  .::WoW Skins::. V2 Lara Bronze
TEETH:  Wow Skins
HAIR:  little bones. Lovestruck
EYES:  Egozy..Eyes Intense Collection
LASHES:  ATIA’s Whisper Lashes
NAILS:  Flair – Nail Hud Add On – Slink Avatar Enhancement – Set 34
BELT:  :::MM::: Boho Stylist Chain Belt, silver, by Mix and Match  NLA
NOSE RING:  MG – Tikka and Nose Ring – Maharani
RING:  Donna Flora GLORIA
GLASSES:  ::: B@R ::: Glasses SE Blue (Chin)
BLOUSE:  {ViSion} -S&F *Lide Shirt* Blue
SHORTS:  *COCO*_LaceTrimDenimShorts_LightBlue
SHOES:  Wayward Hunt 4/17/15- Essenz – Mumbai (Cream)
POSES:  Epiphany