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I would turn away
And if I only knew how
I would resist you
It’s been a nice break, what with the Thanksgiving holiday and all, and now it’s time to play again at Bacchanale (click for info)! Tonight starting at 5, come rock out in your sexiest boots with as much or as little else as you want, while our sexy dancers (please welcome our newest dancer, Clover, to the staff!) show you just what these boots were made for. If you don’t have sexy boots, or if you have hooves and can’t wear boots, that’s all right–come strut your stuff anyway! Try your luck with the gold apple sploder game, relax in the hot tub, order a Bend Me Over the Bar, enjoy the steamy new artworks downstairs, meet new friends, bring old friends, and leave your inhibitions at the door.
That’s tonight (Friday the 28th), only at Bacchanale. 18+ only.
It’s odd sometimes, the closeness we feel for our pixellated likenesses we create for ourselves. They become us. And when we hear contempt toward the choices we make in what our avatars are named, what they look like, and how they live, we take that personally. Because that avatar is a projection of ourselves–it’s who we wish we could be, how we want to be perceived in this virtual world of anonymous strangers.
Mistletoe is an elf. Why? Because she is, that’s why. She’s not the tree-dwelling, drumming circle, newagey speaker of invented languages kind; she’s her own kind. She and her little frame and big ears and wide blue eyes and pale skin are largely how I see myself: at beautiful peace with her “imperfections”, content with all that she is. Not some extreme stereotypical “beauty” out of Playboy, not catered to someone else’s ideal of physical perfection. That’s dull. Mistletoe is what she is, just as I am what I am: not perfect, just right.
And so it hurts a little inside when peple try to get on my case about being “out of place” if I’m in a setting other than a medievalish/fantasy one. When I’m in a Victorian sim, I’m an elf in a bustle and corset and poofy dress. When I’m in a film noir sim (see above), I’m an elf in a fedora and wool dress suit. When I’m in a modern casual sim, I’m an elf in jeans and a Pats shirt. I’ll change how I dress or how I speak; I will not change what I am. And in a world full of nekos, vampires, furries, and alien slave owners, I should not have to change what I am. I will follow whatever dress and RP rules you may have but so help me, the ears stay.
So I gues what I’m saying is: love me, love my avatar. If I don’t fit your standard of appearance, then–as my people say–kiss my pale elfy ass.
It’s recently been brought to my attention that I’m good at distancing myself from people. I think that’s what was said anyway; that’s what I heard being said. I always thought I was the kind of elf who wore my heart on my sleeve but somewhere over the past few decades I guess that must have changed. Somehow I learned not to let show when I’m hurt. Somehow I learned not to let myself get so attached to someone emotionally that it looks as though I miss them when they go. Somehow I’ve gotten so good at putting the fantasy and the reality in separate boxes that it confuses me when other people get emotional.
But this is a good thing, right? I have a clear picture of what’s real and what’s not. And I try, at least, to make intentions and understandings and boundaries crystal clear from the getgo. That’s good too, right?
Well, I made the realization today that it’s very likely that someone’s giving me the brushoff. Someone I’m not hugely emotionally invested in, mind, but someone I cared enough about to expect better. Someone who kept not having enough time for me, but I waited patiently until the time came; and now that it’s come, silence. I know he’s online. I know he’s at the keyboard. And I know he shows up as not online on my friends list while he is online. I know he hasn’t answered my IM.
So maybe I’m just well-balanced (if not perfect) and someone else is being the aloof one here.
There it is.
The past week that I was online, I observed a bizarre “trend” as it were. I met two people, grown adults, whose spouses don’t approve of them going to strip clubs. I don’t mean real life strip clubs, where there’s a real naked person strutting around in front of you; I mean virtual strip clubs, where the most you’re going to see is the pixellated depiction of naked fantastic representations of people, “dancing” on a pole for game currency.
My elfy brain boggles.
I’ve also heard (god who hasn’t…) the news story about the slow news day–I mean, the couple who are splitting up over SL. Old hat, most of us would say; we see shit like this all the time. I’ve seen some sad cases, like the couple who was so deeply involved that they were making plans to leave their spouses for one another…until he caught her being unfaithful to him with more than one individual. I have a girlfriend who, like me, keeps it all in perspective that it’s pixels, it’s fantasy, it’s curiosity, that the RL person she’s chosen to share her life with is and always will be the RL person she shares her life with and remains faithful to. But, unlike me, her husband isn’t privy to what goes on in SL. In her opinion it’s better not to trouble him with that which is not real anyway.
So it’s led me to wonder. Are there any other marriages out there like mine?
My husband knows the names of all my SL crushes/dalliances. He knows how far things have gotten, what I wish for, what I fantasize about. Do I tell him all the details? Well, does he tell me all the details of his porn magazines or DVDs? No, and as far as the both of us are concerned, it’s the same thing. We have one hard fast rule: what happens online, STAYS ONLINE. If there is no meeting in person, there is no problem. I give details, if asked. But I’m not asked. Because my husband is so trusting of me, I am trustworthy. Well, I mean, I’m trustworthy anyway, but you know what I mean. He trusts me, I trust myself.
I knew that we were a rare exception and certainly not the rule, but I have yet to see a single example of a marriage like ours represented in SL.
So…anyone?
I’ll be out of town to visit my grandparents for the week in El’Drin. Send messages via notecard to avoid capping of IMs. I’ll try to bring back souvenirs.
Come put your best hoof forward with all us horny people as we celebrate Satyrday Night from 5-8 at Bacchanale. You don’t have to have horns and hooves to party with us, but it helps! Come as bare as you dare and let that inner naughty boy or girl come out and play.
I want to just start this whole week over again. Reboot. Mulligan. Do-over.
RL desperately needs a ctrl+z.
I don’t regret my actions. Any of them. Some of them have me embarrassed, feeling bare and exposed; some of them hurt like hell; some of them were liberating and exciting; but in all cases I did what I believed was best at the time. Knowing what I know now, I don’t know if I’d do them again. Sometimes hurting is unavoidable. I wish it wasn’t. But it is the way it is.
Overall, I just feel overwhelmed. It’s going to take time to sort it all out and be clear.
It’s like NF is a snowglobe, and this week just picked it up and rattled it around. And it’s going to take time for all the flaky bits to settle into place. Maybe shakeups are a regular, quarterly occurrence. I just wish this one didn’t center around me.
Can we just press the reset button on this week?
It was so much fun last week, now could we not have it again? Wear your favorite sheet and come to Bacchanale for a toga party of mythical proportions. I have no idea what that means. But come and enjoy our well-endowed drink menu (including our house drink, “Bend me Over the Bar and Have Your Way with Me”), sexxxy dancers, classic rock music, the hot tub, the lounge, the sploder…
You get the idea. A great time is waiting for you so don’t miss it! 18+. P.S.: did you know our tip jars give out cool prizes?
