OLRG: Old Milwaukee Style

The theme of this week’s OLRG (Old Ladies Raiding Guild) is Tour Bus Style. In Azeroth, this world of Azerothian elites and “no gaijin” doormen, the OLRG is bound and honored to serve all of us who just want to see shit, and maybe, just maybe, make-out with Will Ferrel on buses:

But since we’re all about breaking through, bustin’ out, expressing our selves, dammit, let’s shake things loose!

ATTACK HELPLESS IMPERIAL MOAT!
(no, really, click on this)

But – I have a big favor to ask: Can we try to get Momokawa’s druid staff again, please? And I’ll sit out for Penitent since my last click seemed to fail. And–can we maybe, just maybe try one of the first wings of Flex with my warlock, for Titan Runestones? She’s so close…so very close…and if JD wants to bring his rogue to pickpocket stuff, that’s cool, and maybe, just maybe let’s go to ICC…

Anyway, Garrosh is hosting some parties, too, so perhaps all of you who enjoy the Horde side of things can meet up with him. He’s having trouble with that paternity suit and all, and could probably use some cheering up. There are tons of mog contests going on, screenshot things, I still have a few ideas, and oh yea, got some Dear Matty columns I need to attend to, not to mention coin stories. In fact, about more than anything I wish I could stay home today. But alas, not going to happen. In fact, my job is stressing me out so much, I tried to raid (more on this later) last night, and looked up at myself in the mirror and the circles under my eyes were Stygian black. Maybe I need a dip in the Imperial Moat. Or an Old Milwaukee beer.

ANYWAY: See you all tomorrow, February 1, at 4PM Pacific. Can’t wait!

The Drunken Fish…

Damn my stupid sh*t sometimes, damn it all to hell! In my impulsive, misguided cleverness I changed the name of my little cottage guild, the one I share with my friend Señor, from the Drunken Fish. I miss it, and tried to change it back, but someone TOOK IT.

I am sorry, my dear friend. So very, very sorry. You do nothing but let me run that guild into the ground, goof around and capriciously change the name, and tell me the stupidest jokes I’ve ever heard. that crack me up. To make up for losing our guild name, yet again, here is something for you:

“Two Chips” / An Animated Short from Adam Patch on Vimeo.

Wing-man

First: I am an idiot.

I had no idea until Turk told me that I could have purchased a second spec legendary cloak for Mataoka, which really would have helped lousy RNG healing gear luck.  I scrounged up 7K gold and off I went. And — ! — I had forgotten to turn in the last part of the Black Prince quest!

I won’t give away the plotline, but the ending was thoroughly satisfying.

This is a terrible screenshot, but look at Wrathion’s puppy dog expression! Oh sooo cute! Who’s a bad dragon, who is? Who’s a bad boy? *Toss skull bone*

And Tong, wait staff around the world, from barmaids in Ironforge to bartenders in Dalaran, cheered your last line:

No, Tong, indeed, he is not nice. Not nice at all.

But *swoon!* Look who added me to Google +! Garrosh Hellscream! Coincidence? I don’t think so.

GARROSSSSHHHH SQUEEEE

Flex tonight was a mixed bag: Breige from Tiny WoW Guild joined us, and she’s so much fun to hang with! She was a witness to some shenanigans. Not saying much else about it, but I will go on record as saying I love my women friends, I have always had women friends and co-workers, and if someone is being a ditz or asshat it’s gender neutral for me. This old saw of ‘women don’t like other women’ is a crock of shit. Using that as an excuse is casual sexism, and I won’t stand for it. This aggression will not stand, man. The women on the flex team: you’re awesome – Landica, you’re funny, Hawt, you’re a steely-eyed tank with nerves of steel, and for me, I’m funny as hell, (you just need to read raid chat) and Breige, always a darling.

Tome: you know I’ve got your back. Anytime you need something, call on me. Same goes for anyone.

If you listen to this and are still in a bad mood, you’re effed up.

Intolerable Neural Itch…

When I went to my friend’s house on Saturday and to catch up with some ladies whom I shared an amazing odyssey with years ago, a few things struck me, and hard: those painful observations which shouted to me emotionally, in many ways, we have nothing in common any longer. We still share the same profession, children around the same ages, but we are varying shades of life experiences. But not a single one has ever, not once, picked up a game besides Candy Crush and understand the seduction, the allure and siren song that is Azeroth or other MMOs. The hostess of the party does know my “deep dark secret” of playing WoW, and how it’s interfered with personal goals, relationships, etc. And while she gently discouraged me from bringing it up, that meant I was also discouraged from sharing any of the success I’ve found from writing this blog, its stories and other ramblings.

Not sure how I feel about that.

From a website appropriately titled Virtual Shackles.

I keep going back to the word “addiction.” The justifications and rationalizations we tell ourselves when we get deeply involved in relationship– alcohol, gaming, gambling, shopping, eating, and yes, love. Many used to label me a ‘workaholic’ years ago, but I gave that up for Azeroth. We strive for those transcendent moments, those experiences of apotheosis and connection. That’s a lot to ask of a little Draenei or Blood Elf, to hold our mouse-hands and lead us to the promise land. Drama Mamas even posted a painful plea from a player whose family member is neglecting all urgent responsibilities to play WoW. We’ve heard these tales before. And like all addictions, the upping the ante for more endorphins always seems to climb the same trajectory. We play more to get that same sensation, the same honeymoon feeling, and then wonder why we log off more depressed than when we logged on. I fondly look back to those first few months when I started playing, when my internal dialogue between Mataoka and the Sons of Hodir felt magical, or her trying to bolster the morale of the good Alliance soldiers, the steep learning curve of simple game play. But things do change, and change constantly, and I also can’t help but do a parallel comparison between my professional life, personal life, and Azerothian one. Something’s got to give. Overwhelming change at times, during my optimistic clarity, feels like a worthwhile challenge, a doable task, an adventure. When I am not feeling this optimistic clarity, I panic, log on, try to do something, achieve something, so as to assuage the guilt I feel for not accomplishing real life tasks.

But how can I explain that my real love affair isn’t necessarily with Azeroth, but the story stream that plays out in my mind? And when I write it down, and hit the publish button, the deep sense of ‘something is done’ is an endorphin boost like none other?

CD Rogue and Mataoka in domestic bliss…

CD Rogue and I fuss at each other, quite a bit. I adore him, of course, and couples fuss at one another, that’s natural. But most of our fussing and minor skirmishes could be avoided, however, if I hadn’t started writing regularly, playing regularly, and just paid attention to him. The fussing comes from both simple and complex miscommunication. Simple in that basically, I am not allowed to sit on my ass and tell him things from the next room, or play WoW, or read Facebook, or anything, but look at him and inform him of things. His defense is that he listens to every word I say. *eye roll* Now please don’t misunderstand. He completely supports my creative endeavors, totally, and wholly. And he’s right: when I am informing him of the broken garbage disposal when my sake cup accidentally fell in and got ground up to smithereens, and I inform him I got most of the pieces out, and tried to hit the reset button, and it’s still jammed inside, he heard this: “garbage disposal broken.” Okay. He then tells me “the thing is jammed and hitting the reset button doesn’t matter and blah blah blah repeating everything I just told him as if it were new information. Me, in my delicate, sweet manner: “I JUST TOLD YOU THAT.” Cue: 15 minute discussion on communication styles. Bottom line: I should have left Azeroth for five minutes, gone into the kitchen, looked him in the eye and told him my complete diagnosis (which was accurate). Now, to illustrate subtext, we’re having this discussion whist he is holding the largest screwdriver we own, a screwdriver which is used solely for when sake cups dive down the disposal and shards get ground under the rotary blades. I did have the passing thought about squirrels, knives, and Christmas Eve beer runs. The only thing harmed in this tale is one Pier One sake cup. I have others.

So the course of true love never runs smoothly. I saw this article this morning and it made me think about all the relationships we have, not just our romantic ones. These are meaningful questions that strike me as not unlike chocolate, a little is going to go a long way. Too much and a tummy ache may result. But these questions provide a purity, a simplicity, of navigating emotions (and they make for some damn fine writing prompts):

From Glenn Melton, Questions That Will Save Your Relationships:

When did you feel loved today?
When did you feel lonely?
What did I do today that made you feel appreciated?
What did I say that made you feel unnoticed?
What can I do to help you right now?
Universal truths lean toward predictable, the paradox being while they are cliche, they are also seeking transcendence: we want to be loved, we want someone to love us back. Where it gets messy and expensive is when we don’t love the way someone else wants, and vice versa. Simple. I think I’ve linked this before, because often I feel like I am “cheating” when I play [too much] WoW, or avoid responsibilities to write [right now in fact].

Perhaps another question needs to be added to the above list:
Are you being true to your inner self today?

Watching amazing films is never a waste of time, in my opinion. Enjoy.

 
Apotheosis from GEE / JOSHI on Vimeo.

OLRG: Que onda guera?

Say “Mortals Are My Cheese!” Yogg! Knee-deep in Yogg-goo….don’t ask

Mr. Snerguls here: listen readers, I gots a headache 8-miles wide, or 13+ kilometers for you metric majority…Matty has so many posts she wants to write, so many adventures to share, but she’s got a full agenda in and out of Azeroth today, and she left it to my skilled editorial webbed fingers to sort it all out, so fuggedaaboutit, capiche? I can’t promise to stay in character either so like a traffic safety study blocking a bridge, you can complain all you want but nuttin’ you can do ’bout it. These stories are her scribblings, and man that dame got lots of scribblings’…more than a tapole spawn in an early spring…so here goes:


The Little Mexican Store That Could…Not

There is a little Hispanic grocery store near where I work. It’s hard for me to leave during the day, and even though it’s within walking distance, I truly don’t have a lot of time to leave. Kind of sucks. But thank you global climate change! A warm, soft day in January, and off I go to find pre-made horchata, and I had to buy some Takis for someone to whom I lost a bet. Takis are serious business, people. Don’t know what those are? Turns out, two of my friends yesterday didn’t know what those were either, and were not pleased when I teased them about it.

This is a bag of Takis:

Now some would say you’d have to eat them if you lost a bet, but they are delicious. When you’re twelve. Anyway, off I go in search of horchata, the drink of youth, the elixir of the Aztecan gods, the nectar sung by the praises of Ozomatli himself! I went up and down the aisles in search of a canned version but all I could find were varying forms of Abuelita hot chocolate mix (which I drink all the time and it is EFFFING AWESOME), the Takis, and some amazing perfect bananas. (Must be having a potassium deficiency because I never eat bananas, but I have eaten every one of this bunch.)

Anyway, I go to check out, a young mother ahead of me with a toddler and baby in tow (what is that about kids? They turn to mountain goats and can climb steep candy displays with no effort, but take a nap? Not.) I ask the nice lady where it is, but my accent is so bad, so abysmal, I am not sure if I just asked for watery pantyhose or asked her out on a date. We get to the bottom of my request, and she points to a display around the corner, and I’m thinking there will be cans or bottles there, but no. I consider buying more bananas, but…she gets out from behind the cash register and points me over to the take-out food section where a rookie cash register lady is being trained by a veteran employee. Her make-up application (the vet) was epic. And this is where it gets dangerous, but I promise, I swear, no judgment. Really. Since I have been observing humanity from the time I could hold a crayon, I am fascinated by people watching. Women all over the world wear too much make-up. Bright blue and iridescent green semi-circles of eye shadow, dotted hot pink cheeks, red lip liner with pink gloss in the lines, and caterpillar-like false eyelashes. The thing is, like most of us women, we don’t look too bad with a little spackle and paint, but too much is too much. Personally, I am a new woman with the right shade of lipstick, dark circle concealer and mascara. I was so mesmerized by the goddess I could not remember how to ask for horchata, and after several botched attempts at “rice water” “aqua de horchata” or “white water” they figured out they didn’t have any, and offered the mango or guava juice instead. I chose those, but was too embarrassed to ask where the lids and straws where, and happily slurped my  juice, open lid, walking back to work. I didn’t spill a drop. Takis delivered, bananas eaten, and I figured I would just keep going back until I get it right, but yes, feeling like an ass that something so close to me felt so far away.

Ulduar, can you hear me?
The OLRG ventured into Ulduar yesterday, and it was really fun: Tome hadn’t been there before, and it is spectacular. We are not so much a raiding team as a tour bus: but seriously, get out of our way. I’ll do a post about next Saturday’s potential adventures, and yes, am going to try to see if I can get my DK on the Horde side gear up a bit more, not that it really matters. I know some fairly OP players! Stay tuned, good folks!

Are you there, Old Gods? It’s me, Momokawa…

her
Last night we went to see “Her.” I don’t have enough broadband in the world to begin to analyze the parallels between our pixelized lives in Azeroth and a man falling deeply in love with his OS. If I casually walked up to friends and said, “I”m in a relationship with my draenei and night elves,” I would be hauled off to the looney bin. But I have as much said that, and I have been seriously judged, and oh well. It’s okay. I do “love” them, and the stories/narratives I create: the subtext of the movie was how deeply imperative and urgent our life narratives are. I’m not suggesting I think the future of relationships, love, and community are bright–I’m saying it gets just as complicated and just as simple as ever. We all want love, we want someone to understand us, and not a single entity can be that for any one person. We need friends, lovers, mates, children, (ours or extended ad-hoc ones). I would love a deep conversation about this film with my Azerothian friends. You may or may not like what it reflects back to you, and at times made me uncomfortable. The pedestal we build, and the clay feet we smash…oh damn, getting too serious. If you want a lighter side, check out Jonah Hill’s parody when you have a chance.

But I have to add, this, along with other recent posts about the nature of community, has left me with lots of thought-thoughts having thoughts. 

Okay, see whud I’m talking ’bout? She just goes on and on! I go out for a coffee and canoli and the next thing I know she’s written too damn much! Bah, whatevs. Snerguls…out. Gotta hot date with a murloc in another realm named Samantha…she sent me a pic and she looks like this:

Theme song: Think I’m In Love

OLRG: Death By Squirrel

Sometimes, well, sometimes we wives, we get upset. We get disappointed. We get resentful, okay? We told him to go to the *@*#* store before it closes, we EFFING TOLD HIM, and he sat on his fat ass and went too late…and the next thing you know…

I have a statue of a squirrel. In fact, I have two. I am not the woman in this photo, nor has CD Rogue ever not gotten beer on a beer run when requested. Of any domestic issue, I can at least thank heavens that wanting to bludgeon him with a squirrel is far down the list. Kind of reminds me of this story, but this time it’s a chicken. And there was no blood. At least I don’t think so.

Okay, sorry. Maybe this lady needs a makeover? Who doesn’t love a makeover?!?! 

Ah, looks like Kellda is going to get her roots touched up…

On Saturday, I’ll be getting a makeover of my own, and a friend is having a reunion of sorts, so I won’t be able to make it back by 4 – or I might, I just don’t know. Doubtful though. They’re not really dragons, these ladies: in that crowd, I am the only one who breathes fire on a regular basis. So here’s what I’ll do — when I get home, I’ll log on and see what’s what. Anything is fun, and anything is awesome, when I hang out with the OLRG.

So squirrels, er…girls…and guys…I’ll be around off and on. I should probably tell CD Rogue he might want to hide those squirrels next Christmas Eve though, just to be on the safe side.