I was joking yesterday that I need a new novena candle, one I can light when I am in cranky-pants mode, regretting social entanglements, and pray to the Goddess of Hors d’oeuvres and Social Graces, the goddess to whom one prays to when feeling less than amicable, less than cheerful, and repressing the urge to yell “Get these mothereffffffingwarriorsofffmymothereffffffffffingpug!”
Too much life stress is like too much of anything–it will inevitably spill over and leave stains. It just does. No matter how much we try to contain anxiety or stress, it kicks and spins into our sleep, our walks, our play time, and meditative moments. It cries, and must be changed and fed.
To that end, here are my rants. Walk away now. It’s going to smell bad.
Last Wednesday it dawned on me that I was the only female in our group. It meant nothing. I was near the top in DPS, did what I was supposed to do, and everyone did. It was a great night. We had a wonderful healer come back, and I hope he doesn’t get bored with this team’s learning-the-ropes mode.
Wait, was there a rant associated with this? No, actually. On the last attempt, however, the game bugged out, dragging our wonderful rogue into the briny depths of the maelstrom, out of range for rescue. We call in the helicopters and fire department, but alas, he was gone. We almost had it too, but almost and game bugs don’t count. But I am heartened to know if we are on our game on Monday, and I plan on it, we will succeed, and then move onto tougher challenges.
I work in a predominately female-populated career. No, not a stripper, (I know, you wish). Was it pleasant or different to be the only woman? Honestly, didn’t really notice, until I did, and it didn’t seem to change the dynamic much. At least the gentlemen didn’t seem to mind, or care, which is the good thing. I am not a Queen Bee type, I just want to play, and hold my own.
Cataclysm Dungeon Hero and the Mount
This is how it went: I fell off the damn camel again. I died and lost my lightening stacks at a critical moment. I got frostbite. I got eaten by crocs. Of the six ones I needed, I managed to get two done, which was great, the I Hate That Song one, thanks to a guildmate’s instructions, the the Acropolypse Now one. These adventures into Achievement Land without my buddy Kaylyne left me very cranky, and I was misunderstood a lot yesterday. I have days like that. No matter what I try to say or type, it gets misunderstood, talked-over, or not heard. After my fail attempt at not getting bucked by that damn camel, I said I would come back with others, stating that in PUGS it was tough to get folks to go to the camel place. It was misunderstood that I was being whiny and pout-y, that they were more than happy to come back and help me, but that is not what I was fishing for. I was trying to say I do not mind coming back with other friends and trying again, but was not going to PUG that one. I also am mad at myself for becoming “that player.” A sweet guildmate kept mispronouncing my name, “Muttkah” or something like that, and I tried to say nicely, “Just call me Matty,” but everything I said or typed got left-footed wonky. This is a brain fact: Brains love patterns. If you get lost going some place, even when you find it, your brain will want to go the wrong direction again. If I call someone by their incorrect name or proununcation, even when I practice it, it will still come out wrong. It’s why mothers call their children by the wrong names. It was no big deal, but then I didn’t mean to make it a big deal, just wanted to be called “Matty.” Stupid me.
Here is a screenshot of my repair bill for the day’s events:
|And, I am still not given guild repair, calendar event, or title status yet. I know…patience young Padawan, patience.|
Somehow in the beginnings of my nubbiness, I may have killed a little Spore guy, you know, by mistake, once or twice. They hate me. So, to make amends, today I thought I would go down to Zangermarsh, kill the bogs, and make the Spore happy. I never noticed this, but the bog creatures spend a lot of time sniffing their armpits:
|Don’t you wish everyone would use Dial?|
I am so intent on making these little guys my friends, I set up my hearth in Telredor:
|Looks spa-ish to me!|
Luperci and the Use of Leap of Faith
I cannot believe I am going to even write this. Never in my wildest dreams would I have to tell a priest not to use Leap of Faith on Luperci will holding aggro on a mob. And then be told I AM THE FAIL TANK. The Druid who replaced the warrior was justifying it, too…gods help me now please.
Yes, and warrior, you got kicked because you forgot you didn’t queue as a tank. Again. Again. And again.
That last run left me shaking mad. Blizzard: Thank you for the goodie bags for tanks and healers, cause right about now, they are the only thing that is keeping me logging in to see how Lupe is doing. But most of the goodie bags are filled with Jordan’s almonds from the bottom of an old lady’s purse and day-old Juicy Fruit. No thanks. Next time a healer uses LOF on me not once, but twice, in a run, you’d better give me a damn title or achievement, or a dragon mount just because I showed up. And I still held aggro.
The thing that sticks in my craw is players that think they know every damn thing. Growth thinking, people!! Be fluid, plastic, and flexible in your chi, dudes. And a big nod to the hunter who knew what he was doing. I could have kissed your misdirect.
So my dear friends, tell me I am a superstar. Tell me I rock. Tell me you love me. Or at least light a candle and say a prayer for me. I think when I log in next, I’ll put on the Busy Sign, and help the Spores out until I am less stinky.
Theme Song: Superstar (sniffing armpits optional)
I also forgot to mention that everyone knows I do not want to see MoP stuff, but somehow do not mind reading about Theramore. I see Theramore’s lore as an extension of current game play, not new materials. Just wanted to clarify that, if anyone cares. Which they don’t.