None of them are speaking to me. Not the shaman. The Mage. Not even the priest who is still annoyed she can’t be all three things: shadow, discipline, and holy. (Not my fault!) I have demanded too much, been chasing too many rabbits and wasting hours wishing to ride dragons.
But. There was hope in a box. (There always is, isn’t there?)
The box arrived yesterday, safe and sound. It cost a fortune to air ship it, probably triple what the contents cost, so that tells you it’s not the the money, it’s about friendship.
This is a picture of how I ripped into the cookies like a crazed wallaby after a three-day hunger strike:
Get. Out. Of. My. Box.
One cookie did drop on the floor, and I used the 3-second rule to save it from an ignominious ending.
So not only were there Arnott’s Chocolate Ripple cookies (pro-tip: put strawberry ice-cream on them and make mini ice cream sandwiches OMGOMGOMGOOMG I am a genius), but Tim Tam cookies as well. They were judged “a bit too strong” for CD Rogue’s palette, but I told him to get his fat paws OFF MY COOKIES. No, I just said, “Oh, well these are flavors you’re just not used to,” and quietly slid the rest away from him. The box included a pouch with the label “Possum Pals” on the outside and filled with some mysterious shavings, which may be Eucalyptus bark, which I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to throw over a bonfire on Midsummer’s Night, dancing naked in the backyard while chanting a dream-time song, while CD Rogue plays the didjeridoo. Hilarity ensues.
Hey, there are some pretty evil spirits floating around now, and I’ll try anything.
Maybe I’ll just stick with strawberry ice cream and the Ripples.
Walking ’round the room singing Stormy Weather At fifty seven Mt. Pleasant St. Now it’s the same room but everything’s different You can fight the sleep but not the dream Things ain’t cooking in my kitchen Strange affliction wash over me Julius Caesar and the Roman Empire Couldn’t conquer the blue sky There’s a small boat made of china Going nowhere on the mantelpiece Do I lie like a lounge room lizard Or do I sing like a bird released?
Confession: I love raiding with Hawtpocket. But–I turned off the playing soundtrack she provided for the raiders. Every now and then someone in Vent says, “I love this song!” or “This should be Garrosh’s theme song,” and I chastise myself for not wanting to listen to Journey or whatever else might be on this 80s list. I really hate that music. So, I opted out, and miss an important part of the social bonding.
Elvis Presley: this one was hard to put on this list and age myself. When I was a very tiny little girl, I wanted to kiss Elvis Presley. years later when I was introduced to the LBGT community by my housemates, and they told me they always loved girls, I realized that we are all truly born who we are. Yes, wanting to kiss Elvis Presley indirectly made me not only tolerant but wholly accepting of the spectrum that is human sexuality. He was already past his prime when I heard his music, and my mother wasn’t that big of a fan. I must have seen one of his movies on TV and felt the ooze of sexuality. (Oh, like you never did!) But this is how I know, and knew, that we are truly who we are, and we know who we are from a very early age. I was born in the era of the Beatles, and their musical influence on my life is indelible.
The Partridge Family
You may start seeing a trend here. Me. David Cassidy. Married. The End.
Second grade. Roller skates. My prized possession: a cassette tape recorder that was used not only to play my Partridge Family cassette, but used to record my own voice. Those tapes are lost to the ages, surely to be uncovered by some future archeologist who will wonder who this small goddess when she listens to the data, which in the future will be instantly recoverable and archived. Surely. Right?
The Beatles
The most sustainable music ever created.
Elton John
Elton John’s music marks my early adolescence.
Top 40 Pop – 70s style
When I lived overseas, Casey Kasem’s voice incongruently introduced me to Aerosmith, The Eagles (in the words of the Dude, I hate the fucking Eagles–but back then I didn’t), and many others. This is one of my favorites:
I love you, Robert Plant. And I know you love me, too.
The Alternative Years:
Late high school and college gave me some of the best guy friends I’ve ever had, and still have. Young men who adored me, put no pressure on me, and simply wanted to hang out with me, share their music, and make me laugh. I made them laugh, too, and was completely free to be as funny as I wanted, and as smart.
When everyone else was listening to the Scorpions and other shitty 70s/80s rock, I was trying to get my friends to listen to the Pretenders and The Police. One of my sad tales is I had tickets to the Police when they first started, but they canceled the small venue show because of illness. I swear to heaven Sting, you owe me one.
The Ramones
Buckingham/Nicks
Every couple should have an album, not just a song. This was mine and my first big love’s. It only exists in my memories now, and not all good ones.
Peter Gabriel
It’s hilarious to tell ‘kids these days’ with all the Anaconda Do’s and Don’ts that yes, that is footage of sperm at the beginning of this:
INXS
Neil Finn/Crowded House
My and CD Rogue’s music:
I dare you not to sing along to this one:
Where am I now musically? I don’t listen to music from my past all that much, and try to listen to both old and newer tracks. A lot of the music I listen to now reminds me of the past years spent in Azeroth. For example, this is a druid’s song if I ever heard one:
Not sure what I find funnier: this clip from one of my favorite movies, Nacho Libre, or the fact that the person who posted it is heard giggling. It’s obviously a very low-tech post, but it tickles me that someone found this scene funny too. The beans coming out of the nose? Yup. ‘Bout sums it up.
Why can’t we, like, ever name our minions what we choose? Or have them look like this?
Okay – here’s been the week:
Helke nicely told me I should have put a warning on my spider nightmare anecdote because some folks are so scared of spiders, so paralyzingly arachnophobic, that post would have stopped them in their tracks. I’m paraphrasing. Helke, you’re right in that I could use some sensitivity training. But if I keep second guessing myself on every thing I write, I swear, this mental, um…blockage to say it delicately…is going to get worse. I’m not a nice person. I have a dark side. I am weird. Today CD Rogue and I went on a walk and I saw a little dead mole on the ground, and wanted to take a picture of it, and thought about Wednesday Addams and how on her “nature” walks she would take pictures of dead things. Actually, I thought this is something she would post on her Facebook page as an antidote to the cute animals phenomenon. It was a darling little mole, taking his little mole nap on the little mole sidewalk. I thought it might not be full grown, but CD Rogue said they don’t get much bigger than the one we saw. That one isn’t going to get any bigger, that’s for sure.
What sick twisted mind stops and looks at moles who have passed on? Shuffled off their mortal coils? Walked to the light? Well, one who has played hours of Hearthstone, and checked in compulsively to Facebook only to find both have left her soulless and devastated. See? Dammit, made me talk about myself in third person. Streams of misogynistic “comedy” and passages of faith posted by people who I know for a fact are prideful, hypocritical, and relentless in their ambitions. I’m done. And that much Hearthstone would give anyone mild PTSD: every time a player hits your “hero” it makes this skull-cracking sound. I couldn’t take it. And murlocs help me if I forgot to hit the ‘squelch’ button before a loss and heard that smarmy “Well played” bullshit.
So enough. Off they go.
When I was a smoker, I would do this trick where I’d crumple up the pack of cigarettes, and in grand flourishes or piques of drama announce to no one but myself and the cat that I was quitting. Let’s all hope the Hearthstone and Facebook stay off the devices a bit longer. I don’t have cats as witnesses anymore. Just Druids.
Did have a blast on Saturday with the Old Ladies. No staff. No pony for me. But at least some one I like got it. (Be kind of tough, because I like everyone!) But I am a little weary of trying to get something and then it becoming a joke: starting to feel like being skull-cracked by Fandral. So – a little break may be in order. If there is something someone wants to do, I’m open to suggestions. I’ll probably have to wait to level 100 and go do Firelands solo!
Dahahka posted an interesting question on his blog: Are you anti-Virtual World? Read it and give it some thought. It captured a lot of what I have been muddling over this summer. What is my place in Azeroth, the real world, and in front of my screen? What am I willing to lose for both? Nothing, as it turns out. But I feel I’ve lost something, and time is no small part.
I’m not supposed to be here…
On the Drunken Fish news, the guild broke through to Level 22, and I’ve been working on my gnomes to help with Classy Gnomes:
Breige and others have been helping with Dwarfs: (I don’t think Worgen or Pandaren are going to make it in DF: /sigh)
And you see that Fun with Friends thing? That’s what I was talking about. Enough with the forced fun. The guild recruitment spamming is all about gold farming – -and I think Blizzard tends to see every problem as a nail and all they have are hammers. They fix one thing by breaking another — for example Turk told me they are making melee more fun by making casting classes less fun.
Sugar&Blood 