Felwitched

Yes, More Shopping

2008-04-07T17:00:00.001-07:00

What else?

The little number above is from Blaze. Naturally, I can't recall the name of it, but you can't miss it if you visit the store. Comes in a variety of delicious colors, available in a bundle or sold singly too.

The Stiletto Boots from Blaze look great with this outfit (in black, naturally).

Next, a silver skinsuit. I'm honestly not sure about this one. Maybe it's the faint grid lines still visible; I know that's part of it, but -- well, you be the judge.

And now something more serious.

I've not been terribly happy this time through SL. Oh, there have been moments, some lovely ones, but the truth is I just don't know what I want, this time.

Or who. Let's be honest.

Shopping is the only thing I am sure about. But there will come a day when that loses its charm, too. I'm not even sure anyone is rading this blog. Wouldn't that be pathetic? Buying clothes that don't exist and chatting about them to people who aren't there.

I just don't know what to do anymore. I'm lonely. And then I tend to push people who try and get close away.

And then I gush about it all here.

This was supposed to be a lark, a grand romp through the stores and fleshpots, an uninhibited sashay through the most uninhibited venue on Earth.

Instead, I've become sort of an odd mix of amateur fashion buyer and barfly. No wonder no one wants to hang out with me.

When I was my other self, things were so much -- easier. I was funny, and charming, and I liked people and they liked me.

Now, everything has gone horribly wrong, somehow, and I don't know how to fix it.

Why is it so different now? Yes, I look different - not as tall, darker hair, a bit more curvaceous. Frankly, my looks have improved considerably.

And it's still me behind the keyboard.

But it doesn't feel the same, and I don't come across the same way, either.

Maybe I'm just spending too much time contemplating my own plight. Before, I got involved in other people's lives. Too much so.

Surely there is a happy medium, though?

Sigh. I don't know.

So I guess I'll shop and hope. Or hope and shop. Shop while hoping. For what I'm hoping, I don't really know. I just hope that when I see it, I'll know it.

Another Day, Another Asset Server Failure

2008-04-03T16:37:00.000-07:00

My adventures in SL today were relatively mild. I bought a new outfit, a shimmering metallic catsuit, that I didn't even have a chance to try on.

I did try on a pair of new hairstyles. The results were -- well. Let us simply say that being of Elven heritage (yes, the ears, but by Elbereth they stay) makes for some rather difficult choices where hair is concerned.

I'm going to look again tomorrow, and perhaps, if I'm so moved, I'll post pics.

There were more problems with asset servers today. Which means problems buying and selling. I lost about 700 L just this week, which led me to curse when I received the announcement from the Lindens this afternoon that a 'load test' would soon begin.

I could have saved them the trouble. SL can barely hold itself together under a normal load. And I think they should conduct all their tests while they buy things, so they'll know how we feel when money or goods just vanish into the virtual ether.

I'm grumpy, ignore me.

Here's another gown, from Simone, in rose. You can't see the matching shoes I bought there because I simply could not convince SL to put a shoe on each foot at the same time. I could wear the left shoe, or I could wear the right shoe, but apparently the severe load created by both my feet being decorated with a modest heel was simply too much for the vast technical infrastructure that is SL. So, here I am, looking lonely and tragic but fashionably dressed:

I just realized my facelight wasn't working either, in that image. Really, Lindens, can we *please* do something?

Like I said earlier, I'm grumpy.

Yes, gentle readers, even Elves get the blues...

Shopping With a Vengeance

2008-04-01T17:09:00.001-07:00

First, the by-now obligatory picture. And yes, I am aware that I am a self-aggrandizing hog for attention, so there.

I've decided to shop full-time in SL, now. I haven't worked out all the pesky little details (who pays the MasterCard bill, who manages my vast inventory, who cataloges my shoes by color and heel height) but it's a decision I'm comfortable with.

Today's journey through the lavish marketplaces of SL took me back to Simone. I'd picked up a few things last week, but had hardly plumbed the depths, so to speak, and if there's one thing Meralda cannot abide it is an unplumbed depth. That's a joke. Silence the crickets.

I like Simone, the store. It's a pleasure to shop there. The wares are neatly divided and clearly displayed, the sales floor is spacious, and the owner and designer, Simone Stern, is gracious, helpful, and lovely.

And talented. Her shoes -- good gods, woman, you should be charging at least twice the price. three times wouldn't be out of line; I have a 350L pair of CourtX pumps that frankly aren't nearly as pretty as the lavendar leopard-print heels I picked up today for 100L. Oh, the outfit in tonight's photos? From Simone's Slutwear room, I believe, though it's far too detailed and nice to be slutty. Well, high-price slutty, perhaps.

In the midst of my determined perambulations (word of the day calendar, gentle readers), SL began to experience one of its all-too-frequent world-wide glitches.

The teleporters went down. Scripts functioned badly, if at all. Clothes could neither be removed nor worn.

And, worst of all for artists and merchants like Simone Stern, proprietress of Simone, transactions began to fail.

I don't know how much revenue poor Simone lost, while I stood by and watched. I know two of my own transactions failed. They may have been completed after I left; I suspect not, given my experience with these things.

I can shrug it off. A few hundred Lindens, well, as I may have mentioned I have all the sense of fiscal responsibility as a vodka-soaked sea sponge, so I'm not concerned.

But had that been my store, my sales lost, my livihood going down the virtual drains -- I;d have been livid.

Simone danced. We had nothing else to do, really, and I had a blast. But, dears, I feel it imperative that Meralda draw a line in the low-prim sand and declare to all of SL that Something Must Be Done.

Real money was lost, today. And yesterday. And the day before, ad nauseum. And I'd bet my best bra (as if I wear them) that money will be lost tomorrow.

I'm not here to leap aboard the 'SL Sucks' bandwagon. I love SL. I'd be devastated if SL went away. So I'm unlikely to attack SL -- without good reason.

But this is good reason.

What is SL, anyway?

Yes, SL is servers and software, bandwidth and binary. Networks and nodes. Packets and protocols and pings.

And that's all very important.

But what keeps people -- and by people I mean me, or other people who come to SL and add to SL and spend tons of RL money in SL -- is Simone. And shops like Simone. And places and people all over SL who give me the things I cannot have in RL.

Why can't the Lindens seem to grasp that? Because they don't. If they did, creators and merchants such as Simone Stern wouldn't be the ones who really lose revenue every time SL coughs (and let's face it, SL is coughing a lot lately).

I don't come inworld to interact with a dynamic virtual envirenment. I come inworld to buy beautiful clothes and go to beautiful places and have beautiful sex -- er, experiences. Without Simone or Lissa creating lovely things for me to wear, and Cattiva and Simone selling me these things, I might as well open an Everquest account and see what the shopping is like in there.

Does that make sense?

Now, the solution to the problem?

I don't know. I imagine it distills down to two factors -- too many residents, too few servers.

My solution would be to remove free resident memberships. Why should some horny newb take up my bandwidth? They won't be here next month. They won't spend the kind of money I do. They get in my way, wear bad clothes, and frankly I've been asked 'Do U want 2 fuck?' a million times more than I'll ever be able to forget.

If that would save Simone, and make SL a nicer place for the rest of us, I say the resulting lack of of penis-wielding Germans bent on public intercourse would be well worth it.

Maybe I'm wrong, dears. Maybe there's a better solution.

If so, please suggest it!

And in the meantime, go to Simone's and buy something. You'll look better, you'll feel better, and maybe you'll be helping SL as a whole out, one darling cocktail dress at a time...

Pictures, As Promised

2008-03-30T20:35:00.000-07:00

I promised pictures this weekend, and pictures you shall have. Even though it's Monday. It was a rough weekend.

This one is me with wings. I like my wings. They're from Chaospire, and you can get them in any color you wish, and you should, because even those dreary lute-playing Middle Earth Elves know better than to wear red wings with black gowns. Or is it white wings after Labor day?

Next, and not the whole cape, just the way-cool shoulders, is the vampishly-named Blood Vial cape from Unique Needs. I like wearing capes, too, even though I have to lose my wings. Luckily, they fold, and do so in such a clever fashion they don't even interfere with the cut of my clothes.

Next, the black Liquid Metal from Cattiva. Some would say the neckline plunges, and that's certainly true!

Another Cattiva; this one gives me a certain 'off with their heads' look I find amusing. I'm not sure what I was thinking when I took this photo, but it looks like trouble.

In this photo, someone offscreen suggested I contemplate a reduction in inworld shopping and overt displays of vanity (such as this post). Note the spontaneous eye-rolling:

That's Liquid Metal again, by the way. I do have other clothes, but I really didn't feel likle wearing them. Also, I find it amusing when people, generally of the male persuasion, fail completely to notice my ears when I wear this. I simply cannot imagine where else they might be looking.

Finally, here's a mini from Simone. You can wear it as a mini, or as a formal evening gown which features a lovely prim skirt. But I was feeling saucy so mini and hose it is:

The shoes are also from Simone, and even though they were only 150L they're lovely, even in close up.

Starstruck!

2008-03-27T17:30:00.000-07:00

I think I raved and gushed about a gown I got at Cattiva a few weeks ago. Liquid Metal, black, turns heads across entire sims?

Well today, I went back to Cattiva, and picked out another gown (pics to follow soon!). And that reminded me of the last time I had Liquid Metal out dancing, and the compliments and flirtations it inspired.

So I IMed the creator, the lovely and talented Lissa Maertens, and she IMed me back, and I got to meet her!

Now dears, I live and breathe clothes in SL. From the most outlandish vamp-inspired latex numbers to the most elegant Victorian replicas, I love them all – and I know quality when I see it.

Liquid Metal has quickly become my favorite. The detail and textures are astonishing, and the overall effect is a rare combination of timeless elegance and sizzling-hot sexuality. Honestly, I have plenty of clothes that are one (elegant) or the other (intensely sexual), but few maintain both aspects so beautifully.

I took pics today. Lots of them. And where oh where is my flash drive, gentle readers?

Sitting on my desk, hoping it isn’t discovered by my co-workers.

But I’ll post them soon, I promise.

But back to Lissa. Lissa, I hope you don’t mind me mentioning you here. But you’re so sweet and talented I can’t help it. Please be advised that the content of this blog is in no way sponsored by, sanctioned by, or even the least bit familiar to Lissa Maertens.

But meeting her was, for me, very much like wandering into the pharmacy to pick up some lozenges and finding yourself face-to-face with, oh, who would be a good example, someone famous and talented but if I say Keith Richards or David Gilmour you’re liable to think I’m implying Lissa is a wrinkled classic rocker and that will never do.

So insert one of your own personal idols there, and you’ll know what I mean.

Check my picks inworld. Visit Lissa’s amazing new store. Buy things, wear things, love things.

Wait, that’s *my* job, isn’t it?

Now, in the realm of humorous anecdotes, my visit to Frank’s Place this afternoon was hilarious.

Frank’s Place, for anyone unfamiliar with it, is a swank, classy dance hall. Think dress codes, strictly enforced (though they allowed me inside, Elf ears and all!). No profanity, no weapons, and you’ll be sneered right into the potted palms if you show up in one of the freebie-bin tuxes or a stripper-shop micro-mini.

The music is Sinatra and soft. The mood is romantic and subdued. The floor is usually a quiet place, and the lovely couples pitch discreet woo via steamy but inaudible IMs.

Quit wondering what I would be doing in such a nice place! That’s not funny, I can behave myself, you know.

Anyway.

Upon TPing into Frank’s, I find myself not on the dance floor, but some distance beneath it.

It’s dark. It felt cold. There was a distinct aroma of scuttling four-legged things and the faint sound of water dripping, far away.

No there wasn’t. I made that up. But there *should* have been.

I soon found I couldn’t TP out, couldn’t fly, couldn’t use any of my clever combat-grade scripted items to escape. And then, I wasn’t alone.

We were five, then four, then three. Two simply logged out, after TPs and all else failed. We three remained.

I was in the company of a lovely woman and a charming man. All of us were strangers, to one another. All impeccably dressed, all stranded in a subterranean wasteland, while a fabulous, elegant party floated past overhead.

There’s a metaphor there, I’m sure. It’s yours, if you want it. I’d rather recall the charms of the lovely woman.

We got to know each other, a bit. The gentleman was from Florida. The lady was from Canada. We talked, we laughed, the lady and I made a secret pact to eat the man if food ran low and no rescue arrived.

I was, at last, able to manipulate my camera onto a dance poseball above. Once out, I was also able to TP my new friends up to the surface.

I like being the heroine, every now and then. Frankly, it was pure dumb luck, coupled with the awful habit I have of peeping under long skirts to check out heels, but any skill is a valuable skill, in the right circumstances.

Now, I described Frank’s to you earlier. Nice place. Quiet place. Classy place.

In comes a woman – let’s call her Pepper – who proceeds to go from table to table and couple to couple, asking at first if the men will dance with her in tones and volumes normally associated with the quaint rural practice of hog-calling.

The whole dance floor, or at least the portions of it that weren’t so engrossed in IM sex that they were still marginally aware of their surroundings, came to a well-dressed standstill.

Pepper moved quickly among the crowd, repeating her pleas for companionship.

Did I mention that she was topless?

Oh. Well. She was topless. And well-endowed, in girth, if not quality of the art.

The staff at Frank’s is subtle but implacable. I expected Pepper to do the halting two-step of the banned, but instead, she merely donned a (tacky) top and continued on.

It was at this point the staff at Frank’s made a wise decision. They let Pepper stay, because frankly, everyone loves a free floor show.

Having nearly exhausted the room’s bemused males, Pepper finally alighted on a seated couple who were obviously long-time paramours. Pepper then offered, in chat, to buy or perhaps just rent the man from the woman, and wanted to negotiate a fair price.

I thought I would double over.

I admit I even made a few offers myself, just in the spirit of the moment. But the lady held fast, keeping her companion, and Pepper was forced to continue her fruitless search for instant male companionship.

As far as I know, she’s still out there, making offers.

Pepper, some advice?

I turned down a half dozen offers while you ranted. They ranged from simple dancing to something involving baby oil, rubber tubing, and a trapeze that even I have never heard of.

Next time, hon, try a smile, a decent ankle-length gown, and for heaven’s sake if you’re going to show so much skin please buy one worth looking at. I actually saw men moving out of your path as quickly as they could – and seeing males fleeing eager females is not a frequent sight, in SL, Frank’s or elsewhere.

So that was my day, dears. Pics over the weekend!

Now go to Cattiva.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow What, Exactly?

2008-03-26T17:26:00.000-07:00

Sigh.

Another day of RL. Sans SL, you understand. I suppose I really should reconsider renaming my blog 'Meralda's New Adventures Thinking About but Not Actually Visiting SL.'

Why haven't I been visiting SL, you ask?

Well. The main reason is simple enough -- due to a cruel combination of geography and happenstance, high-speed internet is not available where I live. Certainly, I could purchase a satellite internet rig, but that is, at best, a somewhat iffy and poorly-performing solution. Instead, I pester the local phone company monthly, begging them to consider offering DSL in my rather distant and sadly obscure locale. Oh, the way they laugh and laugh and laugh..

And so, left to no other means, Meralda -- gasp -- enters SL from work.

I know, bad girl, that's like stealing, and I suppose it is, in a way. I do make amends by putting in extra hours without compensation, and generally being twice the employee I was before SL. I'll be sure and mention that to the nice people down at Unemployment should my clandestine journey in SL ever be discovered.

And there are times when work simply eclipses all else. this has been one of those times. It won't last forever.

But, one reader asked today, might there be another reason?

I bite my lip at that one. Because yes, dears, I think there might just be.

Careful readers of this blog might have surmised, by now, that Meralda is a bit of a mess. Emotionally, that is. And as such, my relationships might tend to be (let's be diplomatic here) problematic.

Sadly, that's true. I tend to be horribly passive/aggressive. I paint myself into the worst sorts of corners, going along with people, trying to make them happy. And then the next day I'm left to look in the mirror and ask 'You did what? What on earth for?'

And, pay attention here, no matter how often I do this and make a mess and vow never to do it again, I always do.

I'm not a stupid woman. Really, I'm not. Except when it comes to people, and creating and maintaining bonds with them. In that respect, and it hurts to admit this, I'm a train wreck. Not just any train wreck. I mean a fully-loaded Burlington Northern hundred-car train loaded down with 500 tons of caustic boiling toxic nuclear waste jumping the tracks at 200 miles per hour. Into a nursery school. Full of nuns and orphans. Right beside a fireworks factory.

I'm not stupid. I'm also not so young that I can wave that about as an excuse.

So what is my problem, anyway?

I should just stick to clothes. Clothes and shopping and dancing, and draw the line there.

I say that, and at this moment I mean it.

But we both know my resolve won't last.

Chug-a-chug-a, chug-a-chug-a...

Better clear the tracks, dear.

She's right on schedule...

Of Cabbages and Kings

2008-03-24T18:13:00.000-07:00

Someone emailed me today!

Well, several someones did, actually. Let's see -- I've won the Spanish National Lottery, that's another 12.5 million USD, the son of a deposed Nigerian royal needs my help to move 45 million USD out of Amsterdam, good, I could use that money too, and, of course, about 35 other people are concerned with the size of my penis (Barking, Up, see also Wrong Tree) or wish to offer me low introductory rate VISA cards.

No, the email to which I refer asks the simple question 'Meralda, where *are* you?'

It seems I haven't been in SL since, I believe, last Wednesday.

That's true. I was inworld this morning, for approximately 3.2 seconds. Even I, dears, cannot shop that fast.

The problem isn't with SL but of course with RL. I simply haven't had the time. Tragic and inexcusable and well-night unbearable, but it's the truth.

But that isn't to say I haven't thought about SL. Oh no. those of you who've spent a certain amount of time in SL know what I mean. Have you ever caught yourself, in RL, mentally clicking on an RL object to see if it was editable?

I have. And I was trying on a top -- in RL, yes, it seems one can shop here too -- and when I discovered the sleeves were too long my first thought was not to put it back on the hanger, but to either edit its sleeve length down or make my arms a bit longer.

Neither plan has much merit, I fear.

But wouldn't it be wonderful to simply Edit body parts, here in RL?

Oh. My. God.

My Bowflex could sit in the corner and bloody well exercise *itself*. I'd eat whole lemon meringue pies for breakfast and never run another step.

And I'd still have my prom-dress waist. Forever.

Now that's a fantasy worth keeping.

Of course, I'd take things rather too far. I'd live in a monstrous, floating castle that was half Niemann Marcus and half bondage dungeon. And half restaurant, yes, I'm aware that's a half too many but if I'm indulging in fantasy math can go get bent, as well, and have the wait staff bring around another dessert tray.

And clothes. I'd simply buy everything I saw, just in case. My closet space alone would soon reach some virtual critical mass and implode, becoming a tightly-packed singularity of fishnet hose and stilletto heels. And I'd keep shopping, because, dammit, this is my fantasy and that means never wearing the same thing twice.. Or, in many cases, even once.

And a dance club. I want and need a dance club. One day I'm going to open one, though I know deep down in my heart that I'd run it poorly and probably make a mess of it before the first wave of lag set it. But damn, to just walk through a club -- my club -- that would be a moment I'd always treasure.

But I'll to get back in SL first. I hope RL calms down in the next few days, that the District Attorney drops all the charges, that the fiber evidence points to -- well, the details don't matter, dears. Bear with me, while I wade through this rough patch.

I can't wait to see if there's anything new at Cattiva!

Bad, Bad Things

2008-03-20T11:20:00.001-07:00

I am sorry to inform you, gentle readers, that Meralda has fallen suddenly ill.

I suspect the source of my sudden discomfort to be rooted in my last shopping spree, wherein I was subjected to that most nefarious and awful of newb afflictions, Love of Bling.

You've all seen bling. Some of you may even be wearing bling-enabled objects, even as you read this.

If so, darlings, please -- detach the item, delete the item, and then empty your Deleted Items folder. Twice, just to make sure.

You'll thank me. Especially if I should meet you, later, and you see by the scattered bodies around you and the still-smoking Reborn automatic in my hands the awful fate you just avoided.

Is there truly any reason for each and every shoe, necklace, boot-strap, ear-ring, and bracelet in all of SL to emit 40 billion watts of blinding white light? Any reason at all, other than to serve as a sort of illuminated 'I Have No Fashion Sense' indicator? Really?

I thought not.

When I first began to see bling, I cringed. The first thing I thought was 'Ohmigod, this will get ugly.'

And, as always, I was entirely correct.

So please, fellow citizens of Second Life, let's all take a stand for good looks and good taste.

Turn it down!

Meralda Tells All

2008-03-17T18:11:00.000-07:00

Today, gentle readers, was not about shopping.

I promise I won’t say that often.

When I started this blog, I promised myself it would be an unflinching, honest record of my new journey through SL. Even, I vowed, if it cast me in a less than flattering light – otherwise, it’s a waste of space.

I’m tempted to break that promise, right here and right now. But I’ll try honesty, right up until the PUBLISH button. And only then will I decide.

So, if today isn’t about shopping, it is about sex.

No, that isn’t entirely correct. I’m sure we all know what sex, in all its multifaceted glory, is about. Slippery membranes, friction, moans and moisture and, if we’re lucky, release.

Instead, I suppose I should be discussing my own sexuality.

Astute readers already have an idea I swing both ways, though I prefer the attentions and company of my own gender. And to be honest, I haven’t lusted after a male since my return, and as each day passes I think such an event becomes less and less likely.

I’ve also mentioned BDSM and D/s. That’s what I need to talk about now.

I was always a sub, in those dim and misty pre-Meralda days. And I was, if I may say so, an exemplary sub. I always took such pleasure in surrendering my own time and energies to the service of another. I liked being commanded, ordered, told. I was eager to please, and it showed, I think.

Still, when I returned, I wasn’t’ the same. I’m more assertive, less deferential, far more prone to take the initiative rather than give of myself.

And the thrill I felt, that first time I took a girl, as a Domme – well, it was electric. Profound. Earth-moving, as they say.

Why, then, did I find myself in nadu at the feet of a rather tall Elf Domme this afternoon?

But there I was, and loving it. I wanted to be used. When she stripped me, and then spanked me, I was practically dripping.

And then I came face-to-face with the lovely young woman I’ve been talking about for the last several blogs.

It was a bit like cruising down the interstate at a good ninety miles and hour and then accidentally putting your Porsche in reverse.

In a good way, I mean. If such a thing is possible. Confusing, but certainly intense. Yes. Let’s put it that way.

So which am I? Meralda, the whip-wielding Domme, or meralda, the cowering elf-girl?

Neither, some in the D/s community would say. Dommes are Dommes and subs are subs and any talk of switches is akin to calling water fire.

Both, some would say. A switch.

Which is correct?

And how do I reconcile my urges to bend C over and use her thoroughly with my need to bow at I’s feet?

Really, that’s not a rhetorical question, how do I do that?

Both C and I were paragons of graciousness about the whole potentially awkward situation. That’s one thing I have found about the bondage community; the ladies are ladies and the gentlemen are gentlemen, even if they are all hellbent on nipple-torture or whipping later, lol.

So Meralda is swimming in new waters, now. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, or how I’ll handle it all. And to be honest, a part of me is still scratching her head and wondering just who she is, these days.

Shopping never presents these kinds of moral dilemmas. I have little experience with them.

Sigh. Still, it is a happy dilemma!

Sweeter Dreams

2008-03-14T19:31:00.001-07:00

Did I shop today?

I breathe, therefore I shopped.

My first stop was Chasopire, where I purchased a lovely red and black ensemble entitled 'Succubus.' No, that isn't it, to the left; Succubus was a gift. I do hope to see it soon, though, she said, smiling mysteriously.

What I'm wearing is a hodgepodge. The top is a cyberpunk vest purchased who knows where. The catsuit is from Briar Rose; the bangles, the belt, and the cape are from Unique Needs.

I saw her again today.

She wore white. I can mix and combine cyber armor corsets and hand-drawn catsuits and I'll never look as angelic as she does. Angelic, but -- hungry. Longing.

She smoulders. I never got the hang of that. I try, and my eyes have a tendency to cross, and that's as good as Meralda's smoulder gets.

But Cai -- oops. Almost said it. Slip of the tongue. Maybe not the first, either, was it, dear?

Sigh. It's going to be a very long weekend, without SL. Without her.

Damn it, I can't even shop.

Good night, dear, wherever you are. Sweet dreams...

All Smiles on the Western Front

2008-03-13T19:11:00.000-07:00

Oh my. Today was -- spectacular? No, that makes it sound like a sporting event. Marvelous is so overused as to be cliche. Wonderful could mean anything, and it hardly conveys the sense of elation I feel now.

The source of this lovely languid lazy loftiness?

Meralda is not one to kiss and tell. But oh, such kisses...

Ahem. It is getting rather warm in here, isn't it? I shall have to speak to Management about the air conditioning.

Shopping. Yes. I do seem to remember shopping today. Early. I probably bought things. I'm probably wearing them in the picture on the left. A skirt from Blaze (Vivace), top from Cattiva, silver pentacle on silver belt chain (no bling, I prefer bling-less items) from Unique Needs. Boots. Yes, there was a shop, something about Linden dollars...

Her legs. I can't stop thinking about them. And her eyes. So soft, so deep, so --

It is warm in here! Jeeves, open a window. Set up a fan. Fetch me a tall glass of ice. Now, man, and put a spring in your step!

As I was saying. I shopped. I probably spoke to people. I do not recall discharging any weapons, so I assume the conversations were pleasant, or at the very least civil.

There was one miscreant, who brandished a scripted sword in the presence of She of the Legs. I was nearly moved to produce my beloved Reborn, but, to my amazement, the woman in question is an active member of a group of talented peacekeepers who needed no help from me! There is something about a girl in a uniform -- a tight, clinging, form-fitting uniform, that eccentuates every curve, reveals every charm...

Jeeves! Make that *two* glasses of ice, no, strike that, bring the bucket.

If you're reading this, dear, I wish yiou a good night, and sweet dreams.

Jeeves, no, turn all the fans upon me...

She Walks in Beauty, Like the Night

2008-03-12T16:55:00.000-07:00

And for once, no, the title of this entry does not refer to moi.

I think I'm love.

Cute little cartoon bluebirds are flitting in lazy orbits around my smiling head. Cute and fuzzy bunnies are hopping and leaping about my feet. Plump cherubim are darting in between, their daft little bows firing heart-tipped arrows at my sternum --

And I've not shot a single one of them. Not even a little.

Yes, this *must* be love!

No, I won't tell you her name. And dear, if you're reading this, you need not worry that I just turned crazed SL stalker-girl on you. Yes, I love you. Because you made me very happy, and you're beautiful, and smart, and funny, and oh so warm...

So of course I love you! But of course that doesn't mean we're *in* love. So don't worry, dear, you won't need a restraining order.

The very worst thing I'm likely to do is take you shopping. I confess that is an obsession of mine.

That, and certain items available from the clever people at Real Restraint, but we'll discuss that privately, you delicious little feline, you!

Now, before I embarrass anyone, it's time to talk shopping. I made a few purchases today, before I whisked away to Nirvana by the sensual charms of -- tsk, tsk, almost let the cat out of the bag!

My first stop was at Falln. I love Falln. I feel sure that, given time and a series of unwise credit limit increases by the stern people at MasterCard, I will eventually own the entire stock.

I got one step close to that lofty goal today by purchasing the new Cinner. Latex and feathers, people. Red latex and black feathers. The way it moves - -it must be seen to be believed.

Available in a wide variety of colors, or course. The latex is mostly black, with subtle hints of red, which I love. The posture collar is a decidedly brilliant touch! Cinner, paired with my favorite Dominatrix boots, made me feel incredible.

Next, I stopped at Cattiva. Yes, I know, that's not a bondage or latex related shop. But what she does have are beautiful clothes, and a girl needs at least one elegant black evening gown just in case a nice human decides to ask her to dance at Frank's or Phat Cats.

This is the metallic evening gown. Note the daring plunge where a neckline would be on a more prudish gown. Hey, my eyes, they're up here!

As always, you may go inworld and pull up my profile and check my picks for LMs. I updated my picks just today, so both Falln and Cattiva are there!

That's all for now, dears. Sleep tight...especially you, dear, and you know who you are!

Talking Too Much

2008-03-11T17:44:00.000-07:00

I. Cannot. Stop. Sneezing.

So I'll cheat, tonight, and post pictures. Yes, they are pictures of me. Yes, I am so vain I am aboslutely sure this song is about me (if you didn't catch that reference, you are young, and you must SLEEP WITH ME IMMEDIATELY).

I've been spending a lot of time (alone) (hint hint) in front of the free pose screen at the Catacombs. That in itself is a sad reflection on my second life, but it's the truth.

I think part of my problem, this time around, is that I don't know which side of myself to open up. I can be sassy and loud, or unassuming and quiet. But I havent' quite decided which to be, so I get confused, and before you know it I've struck the people around me as that worst of all things, dull.

No wonder they're not trying to peek up my skirts.

I just want to be liked. I want to recapture some of the things I had before -- friends, lovers, partners. I miss belonging. I miss having people who belong to me.

But it's so hard, now. Part of me is wary, always guarded, unwilling to get too close to anyone. I can't relive my past, and that's how it starts; you begin to need someone, and they need you, and pretty soon the lines between SL and RL blur and fade and vanish altogether.

I was resolved to keep SL real, but keep it in SL, if that makes sense. Now I'm beginning to wonder if that's possible.

Of course, I keep reminding myself that it takes time to build new relationships under the best of circumstances. Maybe I'm in too much of a hurry.

And maybe I just talk to much. That's been suggested, more than once -- usually with a ball-gag and an hour in the corner, but I was never very good at taking hints, darlings.

Good night, all. Tomorrow is another day.

The Woman Has Issues

2008-03-06T17:36:00.000-08:00

Sigh.

Well, yesterday’s sweetness ‘n light aren’t-people-grand mindset lasted approximately 16 hours.

Sadly, that’s a new personal best.

Because this afternoon, within an hour of going inworld, I found myself loading my Reborn with orbit bullets and entering mouselook long enough to place the cross-hairs right between a certain pair of piglike little eyes.

I didn’t pull the trigger. I still regret that failure. But it wasn’t my club, it wasn’t my land, and I’d probably have been banned (and rightly so) from a favorite haunt had I indulged in the all-too-brief moment of satisfaction at sending a worthless clump of butt-ugly prims suddenly and irrevocably a few hundred million meters away from me.

I don’t even recall what I said. I'm sure it wasn’t pleasant, and parts of it were, I'm sure, anatomically improbable.

What spurred this outburst of rage, you ask?

Two little words.

“Nasty bitches.”

That’s what he said, to send me over the edge.

Nasty bitches.

I must now digress, and point out that the speaker was , at the time, wearing a blue scuba suit. In a club. It wasn’t even a *good* scuba suit; if it cost him more than 30 Lindens I’ll join a convent.

His name was Kaos. Kaos with a K. I know very little else about him, nor do I care to. His last name was something Germanic, I think, but since I refuse to sully the pages of my blog with its real name we’ll just call it Kaos Hindend.

I’m sure Kaos thought he was cute. I’m equally sure Kaos is the only being, ever, to draw that same conclusion. Nonetheless, Kaos insinuated himself into a conversation with the now all-too obvious intent of pissing someone off.

I know I should have ignored him. And I did, as did my companions, for the most part. He droned on and on, interjecting with rude nonsense, on one hand praising our beauty and on the other chastising us for being boring. Most self-respecting if socially backward 14 year olds would have been thoroughly ashamed of themselves.

But not Kaos, he of the freebie-box wetsuit and the ludicrously overblown sense of self-worth. Kaos was determined to be the center of all attention.

Unpleasantries were exchanged. But then he crossed the line.

Nasty bitches.

I’ve been called a bitch before. Sometimes even affectionately. But this wasn’t said with any affection, and since it was muttered by a damp little worm something in me snapped.

Nasty bitches.

I have no doubt, Kaos with a K, that you are an obese, pale mound of wrinkled flesh, signing in to SL from Mom’s forlorn basement. I imagine that your slack-jawed gaping at women in SL is your primary – your only – form of sexual release. I’m cool with that. You’re a miserable wretch. Congratulations. Five billion years of evolution, all leading to you, your badly-soiled underwear, and that half-empty bag of Cheetos clutched in your yellowed hands.

But, and listen carefully now, that isn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault, it wasn’t Emma’s fault, it wasn’t Lidia’s fault.

Nasty bitches.

No. I will not be called a nasty bitch, not again, not by the likes of you.

So whatever imprecations I hurled at you, whatever curses I wished upon you, good. I stand by them.

I am sorry I made such a scene at Xia’s place. I am sorry I cost the girls dancing tips. I’ll make them up to you all.

And if anyone is a nasty bitch, Kaos, it is you.

Getting to Know You

2008-03-05T18:10:00.000-08:00

Someone asked me today if all I did in SL was shop.

A biting retort was on my lips, but it never left them -- because I realized, with just a bit of dismay, that the speaker was probably correct.

So it was with a misty-eyed sense of regret and loss that I shot them some four hundred times with Heavy Damage bullets, and then mopped up with a pair of prim grenades. Normally, I would have remained at the scene of the carnage long enough to adjust my stockings and blow a stray wisp of smoke from the flash suppressor on my rifle while saying something witty, but I'll admit my heart (yes, I do have one, in a jar) wasn't really in it.

Because they were right.

Is that really why I came back to SL? To buy objects that only exist in some imaginary virtual world, but cost real money? Is my entire Second Life (and perhaps my first as well) to one day be measured in the number of skirts I own?

Even the prospect of second sex couldn't console me. Mostly because I had a beastly headache, partly because the deletactable young woman I met yesterday wasn't online today.

So I grew despondent. I wandered from place to place, seeking someone, something, anyone, anything. Seeking, but finding nothing, no one.

Whioch reminded me all to much of my first life, about which the less said the better.

And it was then an old friend signed on.

Now, this old friend and I are platonic friends. Not necessarily by my choice, mind you; but she knows trouble when she sees it, and wisely keeps her legs together.

Still, unrequited lust is a constant companion, so this is no big deal. And I genuinely like this person, who is educated, erudite, wise, funny, and far too intelligent to be hanging around with the likes of me (but don't tell her that).

So we just talked.

And then it struck me. I had indeed been rushing around in a breathless quest for some ambiguous, undefined thrill, when all the while what I needed to do was stop long enough to appreciate the facinating people I already know in SL.

And I know some doozies, dear readers. I've seen strange. I've seen twisted. But I've also seen some of the bravest, most illuminating souls I've ever met, right in SL.

It's not all newbs with exposed genitals. And it's not all exquisitely dressed courtesians, or brawny, steamy-eyed titans, or anything else.

SL is full of people. People searching for something that may be missing or unattainable in their first lives. And, to be sure, people searching for sex or passion or even a vent for their darkest frustrations or desires. That's part of the human condition, too. And sometimes, yes, it's even me.

I've been very fortunate, to have met people like my friend of today. We'd never have met, otherwise; half a world separates us. Despite that, someone I've never met has touched my life in a very special way, showed me me a direction I'd never have found on my own. I've had the rare privilege to befriend a few very unique, special people, and to join them, if only for a while, on their own journey through second life.

So, no sex. But I did end the day with a smile, because the day wasn't wasted. On the contrary.

Tomorrow, who knows?

Gathering Rosebuds

2008-03-04T17:22:00.001-08:00

If I was happy during the writing of my previous entry, I'm absolutely elated in this one.

First, naturally, the shopping. Still in pursuit of latex, I found a lovely bright red top that, when paired with a black skirt from Blaze and sheer red stockings and my black and strappy dominatrix boots, made me look on the outside just like I felt on the inside.

Oh, and jewelry -- a pentacle pendant on a fine gold chain that hangs like a belt from my waist. No bling, no garishness at all. Instead, it's very subtle and it hints at my Pagan faith without strobing it in everyone's face.

Finally, I also bought a gadget that should allow me to simply walk right through cages. That's going to come as quite a shock to the jailers at Xia Nishi's, who have already been gleeful in demonstrating their caging ability on me. You'll have to work much harder than that to get me in the prison, lads!

My last stop was at Xia's place. The usual campers were there, but few others; it's early, by the standards of the club, so I wasn't surprised to see a light crowd.

But there was one girl, there. In a short, tight denim skirt, and a barely-there little top.

I won't post your name here, dear. You know who you are, if you're reading this. And you were kind and sweet and so tender.

We danced, and talked, and the rest of what we did is mild by any standards but not truly suitable for publication, so I'll just say I had a lovely time and leave it at that.

I suppose it's very special to me because it's the first time I've been even slightly intimate with a stranger since re-entering SL. And it was as wonderful as I remembered it, from the initial flirting to the careful testing of the romantic waters to the sweet, sweet surrender of passion and emotion.

Thank you for that, dear. I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever feel that again. It seems
I shall.

So, in summary:

Lindens expended: 1000+
Shots fired: 0
Verbal comparisons made by me about another SL resident and their profound resemblance to a baboon's inflamed posterior: 0

All in all, a *very* good day!

Things to Do, People to Shoot

2008-03-02T19:26:00.000-08:00

People are always asking me questions. "Why do you seem so angry all the time, Meralda?" or "Does everything in SL piss you off, Meralda?" or "Ouch, Meralda, why are you stabbing me in the eye?"

Well, the truth, dear readers, is that I'm not angry right now. Not even a little bit. If you'll look closely, you'll even see me smile.

Because I had a lovely day in SL, at last. No one made fun of my wings. No one cast aspersions on my sexual proclivities. In fact, boys and girls, I never took the safety off my hidden automatic rifle.

That's not true. I did in fact fire the weapon. But not in anger, after having been insulted by some lower primate with a 90 Linden dick and delusions of grandeur; no, I was on a public firing range, seeking to improve my aim so my next encounter with the aformentioned lower primate would result in fewer civilian casualties.

I know, I know, weapons are pure evil and we should all settle our differences through reasoned discourse and compassionate mutual respect and understanding. That's quite true.

But it's no fun.

Now, squeezing the trigger of a Roby Tandino "Reborn" automatic and blazing forth with a thundering salvo of orbit bullets -- that's fun, with a capital F. And if some ass-hat griefer just happens to be in the line of fire, why, it's fun in the interest of the public good.

I like blowing things up. Sue me.

But don't try and shoot me. Even the very polite range master was amazed at my progress; in just under an hour, I went from "lousy" (his words, and accurate) to "competent if not outstanding" (also his words).

It probably helped that I was wearing the shortest skirt I own, but I think most of his praise was deserved.

And I was treated with respect. As soon as he knew I was there to learn, he was all business. Wings and Elf-ears? Irrelevant. As they should be.

From there, I shopped. Of course. The people were pleasant, the lag was low, Lindens flew from my delicate hands like so many leaping fishes. I bought a new outfit at Chasopire and six new dresses at Blaze and three new dances from Sine Wave, and not once did anyone chide me for using a bloody pose stand.

After that, I decided it was time to test my new dances, so I headed to Purgatory.

Purgatory, I may have mentioned, is a wild and wicked dance hall with a Hellish setting. The crowd is international, with German probably being the most frequently spoken tongue. My own German is limited to mach schnell and achtung and sauerkraut, but "Hell yeah, let's party!" is recognizable in most languages, so I jumped right in.

And danced. And fired off my new poofer and my new woohoo-screaming gestures and my new dances. I believe at least three stalwart gentlemen tried to pick me up, which is only right, since these days I look at least that damned hot, and it's nice to be appreciated.

It was fun. I was an Elf, dancing in a subterranian dance club that could never, would never exist, surrounded by people I'll never meet. But it was fun and that's what SL is for, at least for me.

No, no shootings, no insults, no exchange of imprecations vile.

I can only hope tomorrow is just as much fun. With sex.

We'll see!

I Am Not Amused

2008-02-28T19:27:00.000-08:00

Hello again, gentle readers.

I'm back. Back with a fresh new avatar, of which I am very proud, back with some clothes which I absolutely adore. Back with a vengeance, as they say.

Back *for* vengeance might be a more accurate telling, however. For you see, while I've been delighted to see SL again, SL hasn't exactly shown equal glee upon seeing me.

Not all of SL, of course. But let's take today as an example.

I was out shopping. That happens a lot. By my own most conservative calculations, my purchases drive nearly 22% of the overall economy in Second Life. And those are only my Tuesday purchases. After lunch. Before tea.

You get the idea. Anyway, I was in a certain animation shop. High-end, moody lighting, some very well done animations. I stood on a pose stand, and, as is the custom, I cycled through a few animations.

At which point the owner of the store chastised me, publicly, for cycling through his animations.

I was confused, at first. It was obvious that A) I was using the pose stand for its intended purpose, and B) I was in his store to spend money.

But apparently, this biped would rather people approached his kingly presence by crawling in on all fours before quietly depositing heaps on Lindens at his majestic feet and then departing without disturbing the sweet, sweet silence of his precious shop.

I mean really. Is it *my* fault your idiotic pose stand announces in text chat the name of the animation and the price? Were you reciting poetry nearby, and found your brilliant iambic pentameter ruined by my ill-timed effort to add to your purse?

So to you, sir, I loft a single finely-manicured digit in solemn salute. Up yours, your inbred oaf, and by the way, I hope your total sales for the month equal the ludicrously low amount you spent on that awful mop of cast-off prims you mistakenly refer to as 'hair.'

Fresh from that encounter, I was then approached by an enormous, black-clad male who was simply festooned with swords, daggers, bits of hilarious leather armor, and the most elephantine boots ever to march hobnailed from the depths of human imagination.

It spoke to me, seeming pleasant enough at first. Curious, I read its profile.

Master this, Dom that. Not that I cast any aspersions on the BDSM community, of which I have been an active part. So active, in fact, that I know quite well that black leather does not a Dom make.

Now, before I proceed, a word about my appearance. There is an image of me on this blog, so you may see for yourself, if you wish. I am an Elf now, complete with darling Elf ears and tasteful Elf wings.

So, after the initial exchange of pleasantries, this ludicrous pile of soiled Dark Ages laundry decides to inform me that I should be ashamed of playing 'Mickey Mouse bdsm.'

Well, Tall, Dark, and Stupid, I'll play anything I damned well please. And I certainly don't need the permission of any limp-dicked overdressed wannabee to do so. Oh, and while I'm being open and honest and sharing my feelings, you never had a chance at me anyway, you pathetic little girly man. Not only are you not in my league, but you are so far beneath me that I can't even normally see the likes of you without assistance from the Hubble Space Telescope and a team of genius microbiologists. So you are cordially invited to take all your poorly-crafted swords and shove them sideways up your nearest convenient orifice and then spin them all up to a few hundred RPM, you despicable, charmless waste of bandwidth.

I was proud of myself, actually. I did not discharge a round of orbit bullets into his smug if badly-drawn face. In retrospect, I should have; I fear that's the only way such creatures will ever learn manners.

Weary from such encounters, I sought refuge in a popular bondage club.

I'd been there perhaps ten minutes when a cadaverous self-proclaimed Master decided my wings were not to his liking.

My wings weren't in his face. They're quite small, actually. And they're far more attractive than anything this elongated, ill-tempered Smurf wore. In fact, if he spent more than ten minutes in total creating his appearance, I'll eat a mop.

Master Smurf gets TWO single-digit salutes. I wish I could remember your doubtlessly moronic name, you graceless clod, because I'd certainly include it here.

Thankfully, and no doubt due to complications from the chronic constipation that must have been the major contributor to his facial expression, Master Smurf didn't stick around long. Some Dom, fearful of an Elf-girl's dainty wrath. I do hope he's stopped crying by now.

Sigh. That was my day. But tomorrow is another one. I will issue all miscreants, rude persons, griefers, and garden-variety assholes the very same warning:

No more Miss Nice Elf.

Strangers in the Night

2008-02-08T06:47:00.000-08:00

To be honest, I suppose 'strangers in the late afternoon' would be a more accurate title. But it lacks that certain romantic flair, does it not?

Ah. Romantic flair. I'm convinced SL is powered by it, made of it, suffused with it. Dim lights, pulsing music, bodies twirling and gyrating. Yes, gentle readers, love was in the air yesterday, or at the very least a powerful concentration of certain very earthy hormones.

I could tolerate my self-imposed exile from the merry fleshpots and loud dance halls no longer. I decided to go somewhere I'd never been, do something I'd never done. And since I'm still clad in a newbie Club Girl body, I was sure I could drift ghostlike through some of SL's less savory venues and neither be seen nor remembered.

So I called up Search, and entered kidnap roleplay.

As I've said before, I don't feel at all sexy yet. Or desireable. But I'll admit the fantasy of being forcibly taken has sometimes appealed to me, so why not indulge it, before I'm wearing my good ball gown, so to speak?

I TPed to a few places. Most were empty. One was not. A shiver ran up my spine, as strange, hungry eyes fell upon me. Male eyes, but that fits this fantasy.

I was ready. I'm not ashamed to say it. I wanted to be ravished, there on the spot. I wanted to struggle and kick and scream, until I was stripped and bound and driven to a rude, rough climax.

He looked at me, and spake those words that every girl longs to hear:

"U want 2 fuck."

U want 2 fuck. Period. Not a question mark, no, this back-alley Lothario eschewed such tired old conventional punctuations. And spellings.

I wasn't expecting to be whisked away in a gilded carriage to a sumptuous, fragrant bed of roses, but may we have a little effort, please? A smidgen of play-acting? The barest hint of drama?

No, it seems we may not.

I made a helpful and heartfelt suggestion to the gentleman, and left, thinking my plans for any sort of dalliance, down and dirty or otherwise, were over.

But then somehow, I wound up at a new club. It's a marvelous place called Purgatory with an appropriately Hellish theme, which suited my mood perfectly. My picks inworld can take you there, if you're interested, and if you're not, you bloody well should be, darling.

Purgatory is, I must say, friendly as Hell. Even in my pitiful new body I was greeted warmly, and even showered with gifts, including a new skin (thanks Angi!). I put it on, and immediately felt a bit like my formerly hot self.

The DJ was German, the music was hot, the crowd was funny and charming. Soon, I spied, with my inerrant talent for sensing charm, a certain leather-clad woman with amazing red hair.

Conversation ensued. And in those few minutes, I regained my footing, I believe, and put a large part, if not all, of my sordid SL past behind.

It feels good to be wanted. It feels good to desired. It feels absolutely marvelous to be listened to, to be appreciated, to be flirted with. This woman is an active BDSM D/s lifestyler, and within moments I was cursing my lack of the slave bracelet which would have allowed me to throw myself literally at her feet.

Yes, readers, I myself have some small experience with D/s. There are times I relish being submissive to the right person, as there are times I meet someone and feel the need to domme her. I suppose now I need the former -- especially where She is concerned (wink, wink).

Kinky? Perhaps. But perfectly normal to those who've felt that particular call. And SL is a wonderful place to explore these feelings, so why not?

That was my day in SL. And that's why I'll go back, again and again. For those moments when you meet someone, and you feel that giddy rush of initial attraction, that first blush of flirtatious playful desire. And for the relationships that are forged from such moments.

That's all for today, dears. I'll see you on the dance floor.

Mirror, Mirror

2008-02-05T12:19:00.000-08:00

It's been a dreadful few days.

Which only makes me appreciate Second Life more. Oh, I'm sure some clever person out there is shaking her head and quietly suggesting I stop wasting my energies on SL dalliances so I can confront real-life problems in a direct and constructive fashion. But that's the same sort of linear thinking that leads to sensible shoes and flannel nightgowns and the PTA, so I'll have none of it.

And anyway, I haven't had a dalliance since my return, thank you very much. I simply cannot imagine dallying in a newb body.

Which is odd, now that I think about it. I rarely watch the animations on the screen, when dallying. I'm a text-based woman, when it comes to amorous encounters. A silver tongue, and a vivid imagination, will get you much farther down my pants than any number of scripted genitalia or fancy sex beds.

But I have realized that unless you look good, I'm just not listening to you.

And not just good. Very very good. Model good.

I rarely dally with males. Most of them simply don't interest me. There have been a few, though nothing lasted past an encounter or two. Hint for male suitors: I'm not interested in a picket-fence cottage and quiet evenings at home. And just because we spent Monday locked in acrobatic coitus, don't expect me to cancel my plans for Tuesday because you feel like an encore. Men are far more prone to such a mindset than women, I've found. Pity.

So I just don't feel at all sexy right now. Oh, I've met some lovely people -- mainly at a place called Xia Nishi's which caters to bondage lifestylers -- but I've kept my poor simple ass firmly planted in my chair. It's been a bit refreshing, in a way. I suppose I wasn't as ready to thrust myself back into the scene as I thought; I've enjoyed just hanging back, chatting, and observing.

I do miss dancing most of all. I can hardly wait until I can get dressed and hit a dance floor. To see, and yes, to be seen.

But I'll have to be beautiful first!

Soon, and very soon...

Waiting to be Born

2008-02-01T11:54:00.000-08:00

My name is Meralda. Or Miss Felwitch, if you're a newb with his 20 Linden Day-Glo crank hanging out of his freebie pants. And no, I will not 'do' you, despite your clever abbreviations of already-short words.

Sigh. I see some aspects of SL have changed very little since my abrupt departure from it some time ago.

But I'm back. And happy to be back, despite the determined efforts of the perpetually horny. I missed so many things about Second Life, things that I'll never experience in my first life - -cavernous, magnificent dance clubs, vampires, flying, the occasional prolonged bout of truly inspired sex with an Elf Queen, making the sun set or rise as I see fit. For all the lag and log-outs and griefers and newbs, I missed SL much as I'd miss a severed limb or the sudden disappearance of Chinese food.

And so here I am, back again.

Well, almost back. While I am a woman of many talents, tweaking avatars has never been one of them. Oh, I've tried, and left a bevy of oddly-shaped humanoids behind. The eyes are especially troublesome. I always wind up with a cross between a raccoon and something moist that evolved in the lightless depths of a deep cave lake. Even the really decayed vampires offer me tissues and gently suggest I should turn down the intensity on my face light.

And so I have contracted the services of one of SL's premier escorts and creators, who is even now creating my new SL persona.

But for the moment, I'm stuck in the stock Help Island body known as 'club girl.'

I'll admit it, I'm a bit of a snob, in SL. Half my reason for being here (vanity, thy name is Meralda) is to look good. There, I've said it. I'm shallow, I'm vain, and by the way you're standing between me and my mirror.

I've spent a small fortune, in the past, on clothes and shoes and capes and handcuffs - -er, on accessories. So I notice and appreciate the same practices in others. Conversely, I see a stock body newb, and my reaction is -- let's just say it ranges from indifference to disdain. Strong disdain, if they try to pick me up -- sure, I'm wearing a 3000L gown and my skin alone cost a couple of Toyota Corollas, but I was just thinking to myself 'Meralda, I'd love nothing more than to go down on the next single-prim goof who asks me for a quickie.'

But that's what the TP button is for. Sometimes I tell them sure, I'll be right back, just let me fetch my crate of sexual devices. Somebody can tell that guy still waiting in Aruga that he's wasting his time.

And while I'm ranting, why do so few people read profiles any more? If my profile explicitly states that I prefer the company of females or Rosicrucians or circumsized Antartic penguins only, why do I get 200 IMs an hour extolling the virtues of sex with guys named Rudy who are neither female nor Rosicrucian nor even dressed in a tux?

Oh. Because these are the same people who voted for Bush and buy all those Britney Spears CDs. Never mind, dear, forget I asked.

I sound cranky. I'm not, really. Well. Catch me on a dance floor, catch me shopping, catch me most places in SL and I'm a sweetheart.

Or I will be, as soon as I'm out of this poor stock body! This is like all those dreams, where you're naked in the hall in your old high school. Everyone is looking at me, and all the doors are locked, and there's nowhere to hide...

The worst part is that people treat me just like I treat newbs. Some of you may view that as karmic retribution. I view it instead as a grave flaw in the makeup of the Cosmos, for while it is Just and Right that I look down on those less attractive than I, the current failure of persons to recognize my inner beauty is simply inexcusable.

As soon as I have my hot and rawking body, and it is clothed in my stunning skin, and both are then garbed in the kind of finery that makes VISA card account managers gasp and tremble, I shall wreak my vengeance upon all of SL, I tell you! My fury knows no bounds, my indignation shall lay low the halls of the high and the mighty...

After I'm done shopping, that is. And of course I'll need to restock the dungeon -- um, the pantry. And find out who's making the best shoes, and the best hair, and where all the hot dance clubs have sprung up.

Vengeance may have to wait. But that's fine; as They say, the best revenge is living well.

And I plan to do exactly that.

Live well.

I hope you'll follow my journey, in the pages of this blog.

Until Monday, ye readers, be well.