Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey, Lupe!

Glad the update is taking longer than usual, (which is actually normal), because I got quite a lot done this morning: dishwasher monster vanquished, (oh, but we shall meet again, fiend!), bill-trolls packed and stamped, stuffed in the mail box, and shifted some molecules of dirt and grime to another location. However, one thing I am anxious to get started on is to inspect Little Miss Smarty Tank and get her talent tree reconfigured, glyphs ensconced, blacksmith skills polished, and mining skills strengthened. Knowing that she will be spending a lot of time in Mt. Hyjal and Vash’jir, she has her obsidium skill, but really needs her elementium and pyrite pick-ax skills, too.  Because, really, who doesn’t like rainbow-colored ore? All Skittles-y and pretty. But as she sits, she is just as low-rent and scummy as any tank who will take damage for hire.

The sad thing is, the sugar-momma of the bunch, my main Mataoka, doesn’t ever have enough gold on hand to support all the growing alt-mouths. She’s not too proud to take welfare, but it’s not offered. In Azeroth, time is money, friend, and you gotta earn it to burn it. She’s thinking about reading a gold-guide, but is always a day late and dollar short, so she’ll just deal with that another time. She practiced her healing arts last night in a normal-mode dungeon, and the only player who died was she when she hopped off her dragon and spasmed out, falling into the fiery crevasse off of a Grim Batol ledge. Yes. You read that right. Her over-powered guildmates are probably still shaking their heads. I am still laughing over this self-induced death. Hey, it was late, my keyboard did something goofy, stepped on a rock, sun got in my eyes, whatever. Someone save me from myself, please.

Yesterday evening, I studied a trusted friend’s profile on the armory. Nice to see he hasn’t been lying around, getting fat and lazy, armor plating getting a bit snug around the midsection. Inspecting other players on the armory is a socially acceptable form of flattery. In any case, again, I took notes, and am ready to mimic his configuration. The only differences between him and Luperci is she has a height advantage, but envies his red hair. It would take too much toner and bleaching to get her dark locks to look like his. She’ll eventually have to find her own style. In the meantime, he is one amazing tank, a true champion of the light, and she is in his debt.

Oh, there’s one more difference: he has about 150237 health: she as about 22000+/-. Better get this anemic little girl some red meat and iron.

Theme song: Good Morning dance number from Singing in the Rain. Warning: there is tap dancing.

Word of the Day: minion

I subscribe to Visual Thesaurus: http://www.visualthesaurus.com/?word=minion

Thought this WOTD was timely. My minions are slackers. However, my warlock guildmate’s (not you, the other guildmate) minion, or imp, has a phrase he/she/it throws out regularly in a scratchy, minion-esque voice: “Can’t we all just get along?!” Maybe if Rodney King and the LA Police had thrown out healthstones and fel-fire, things wouldn’t have gone so wrong.

Theme song: Sublime, April 29, 1992

Escape artist.

There is a monster in the dishwasher. There must be. It is ferocious, and will not go away. The only thing that stuns it is a long rinse cycle and strong detergent. But, once the plates, cups, glasses, and cutlery are clean, if I open the door, it will crawl out, not biting or causing blood loss, but bruising and annoyance, a lot of damage over time. The dishwasher monster makes a high-pitched whining sound like a mosquito in mating season. It spawns new dirty dishes in the sink, and I am convinced it is in cahoots with the washing machine. So, while I plan my next counter-attack with this soul-sucking demon, I perused Psynister’s blog roll, and came across this gem:  Planet of the Hats, specifically this post:  http://wowhats.wordpress.com/2011/05/06/im-not-here/

Now to go wrangle some to-go mugs.  Finding lids to mugs weakens it, as does putting the spoons in the right place in the drawer.
Time to run away…

Road of trials.

My brave daughter,

Word has reached me that your level of training has turned to a critical point. You do not have much time to waste, although I am certain, having been through this myself as a young paladin, you wish to simply put up your hooves, put down the shield, and let your responsibilities languish for a spell. This is a dangerous time for you. You have not begun to prove yourself, to your people, king, or country. You do not have the luxury of waste, Lupe. It will take your continued dedication and devotion to the light, and increased vigilance. All you seek you must obtain on your own, no help, no guidance. Arm yourself, my beautiful girl, and seek the path of the light.

Your father,


Luperci folded her father’s letter neatly, and repeatedly smoothed and pressed it out flat on the table, then tucked it away in her bags. No one was there for the fireworks, no one noticed, but this somewhat admonishing letter was all that bore witness to her celebration. She knew he was proud of her, but always so damned worried. She wondered what her mother thought. Strangely, though, she felt a bond with her sister she hadn’t felt before; they were close to being equals now, and perhaps…the rivalry would be replaced by friendship. She rubbed her brow, and gave herself the gift of a deep breath, cold cloth, and some sleep. She would need her strength.