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Inspiration for me comes in waves, it crashes against my hull and creates such disturbance that it simply must be acted upon – in whichever manner it must – lest I go mad, continually being thrown starboard to port and back again.

One of the things I hope to do with this blog is relay some of the experiences I’ve had in the past several years both in Real Life and Online.  Not to hurt anyone, but rather, to inform – or share things that may be useful to my readers.  It was a true journey – learning the trials and tribulations of being online; adopting a variety of personas in a virtual space; coming to terms with my perceptions of how it affected my real life; and truly learning “who I am” in doing so.

Sometimes I purge.  I think it’s good, and necessary, and I refuse to punish myself for it – or let anyone else do so.  But because I am kind of a neurotic person, I tend to think “how did I cause this” before thinking “who did this to me.”  And thus, when I purge, I promise what I post here won’t be much in detail– or blame, but more a bubbling of perceptions that I’m compelled to organize before truly moving on to storymaking.  So you’ll see it all here – first draft to final – I hope you enjoy my process.  I’ve come to.



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Making Meaning Out of Poo

Yes.  That is the word – “poo.”

One of the double-edged swords of online gaming is continually forgetting that there is a real person behind the avatar you are chatting with.  I forget this all the time.  Sometimes I think I’m mumbling to a computer, or robot – an entity without feeling or regard of the Universal balance we call ’cause and effect.’  So when I tell you that I developed a case of “late stage” paranoia that my real life and my virtual life were merging – this is why.  When I’m inworld, I don’t use the fancy gadgets that other avatars use, I could care less that the group of avatars I’m talking to might actually be just one person. (Kudos to them and all the energy they have, if that’s the case.)  I was there to chat, satiate my curiosity with some adventures, go shopping on the cheap, and generally get away from the real world for awhile.

It’s also why I didn’t think twice about sharing my poo stories.


One night folks were sharing their “extreme partying” stories.  I didn’t really have much to tell at the time, but I did have a funny story that had just happened to me – on my way to a Friday Night Happy Hour.

I had been trying to lose weight for some time.  Working full time, going to school, taking care of a family, keeping up a house…well… you get the idea.  It amounted to a significant weight gain.  However, I had gotten it into my head that I could look like my avatar.  I’m not talking about surgery or anything, but I think having an avatar inspired me to look better, as they’re all so very perfect.  I’m sure there’s some “research” on the topic somewhere and I’ll remind myself to go look it up one day (heh).

At the same time there were commercials on the air that “My Ally” had FINALLY gotten FDA approval and would be released to the public.  Yes!   I will take the fat decreasing shortcut, please…and will soon be melting pounds away like Butter Flavored Crisco!  (MyAlly users should already know where I’m going with this.)

I was particularly proud of my results so far, Spring had arrived and I was very excited to wear my WHITE CAPRIS.

And then I sneezed.

Oh God.  That didn’t just happen. (Yes, LG, it did.)  You just made number two in your capris.

So I did what any other Happy Hour Hungry Hippo working in a medical facility would do….  I snuck into Resusci Annie’s storage closet, ripped the pants right off her and was on my merry in no time.

(The avatars were rolling in their imaginary chairs, I just knew it.)  But I couldn’t stop there….newwwwwww.  I had to be the funny one, the one coming from left-field – irreverent and quirky – so high on the moment that I type “…well at least my dog didn’t bring my underwear back this time.”


Oh God.  That didn’t just happen.

I type too fast sometimes.  They don’t have a recall button in world like Outlook has.  So now, I HAVE to go on and tell the related story, of being a girl…barely 8 or so… getting into her parents chocolate-flavored ExLax.  Ridden with shame, she expels her bloomers into the nearby woods.  Only to have the retriever “bring ’em back” to her Pa.

Oh the lesson she learned.

So we come to my late-stage paranoia.  After telling the stories and being teased mercilessly online, I log off and go to bed.  But I can’t sleep.  Who was I talking to?  In real life?  What if they knew who I was?  In real life?  NO ONE CAN KNOW ABOUT THE POO!  I AM A TEACHER FOR CHRISSAKES!

I didn’t sleep the whole night.

The next few weeks, I kept deriving meaning from every communication I had.  Not the silly meaning making that confounds you on occasion, like… telling your boss you want to do a ropes course at the YMCA, and having him think it’s akin to the knot tying badge he earned in Eagle Scout’s.  No, MY ropes course is about teambuilding, not tying knots, DUH!

It stayed on my mind like this for weeks.  I was suspicious of everyone.  One night my family started joking about diarreah at the dinner table (which is gross anyway) – and so I squinted at my husband.

My friend bought me a Cadbury chocolate bar as an Easter Gift, it looked suspiciously like an Ex-lax block.  I squinted at her.

The TV began airing “Regularity” commercials.  I squinted at it.

A stranger in the elevator mentioned “you have something on the back of your pants” and so while brushing of the lint…I squinted at her too.


At some point, I got over it.  But not before quietly quizzing everyone I knew, under the radar, if they had any knowledge, whatsoever, about my poo.

P.S.  Yes, I did give Annie her pants back.

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Oh I forgot…

I forgot to add douchebags.  We blame douchebags too.  And alcohol.  Douchebags and their alcohol.

Is that everyone?  Did I miss ANYONE?  If I did, please tweet it here: @iBlameEveryone – and I will surely add your woe-generators to this one-way conversation.

More on “My Problems are Your Problems” tonight.  In fact, let’s just tell silly LiteralGrrl stories until election day…


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My Problems are Your Problems

I truly believe everyone wants to help, be a part of the solution and not the problem. I truly believe this about people.  I trust them, and I worked hard to do so…until recently. (Hang with me, here – I won’t stay this sappy.)  Each time you have a life hurdle, you test this trust – and I think most of us spring back rather easily.  I had gotten good at it, I think.  But this last time, these past – three years – ugh, almost to the day…I broke.  No…shattered.  And I hadn’t a clue how it happened.  Or why.

Still, I keep coming back to the inherent good in people – yet…how can we be blissfully happy one moment, and the next….have it shattered to pieces?   And this, I understand, happens over and over to some people.

Until they wake up.

Everyone is trying to do their part.  I get this.  But for whom?  And to what end?  Our country needs to change…hell the whole planet needs to change…and I know this is what we’re moving toward: a global unity.  I get it.  And we must prepare.  I get it.  But I also think that if preparation means widening the gap between the rich and poor, ignoring climate change, redacting human (women’s) rights, shelving sustainability, becoming religious monotheists, and INSIGHTING MORE WAR – we’ll only reach consensus together in our graves.

We can blame so many entities, can’t we?  Exploding technology as distraction and vulnerability; elitist academics or bible thumping creationists making up our histories; them gays covering for their bearded bros, them kinksters, them punks, or them other weirdos-in-general – or, hey – them politicians (both sides) or them greedy stockbrokers or them power hungry lobbyists; the war-mongers, the administrators, the immigrants.  We blame the guns and the music, and God Damn them pretty girls (They’re weighting down the branches of the tree).  We blame the teachers.  The parents.   The kids.  Oh didn’t you hear?  The kids are now the reason pedophiles act out, they beguile them with their prepubescent breast tissue and hairless genitals; they eye fuck them with their manipulative, sex-starved brains.  I couldn’t fucking believe that one.

But I digress.

The fact is we’re in the middle of the biggest shift this country, nay this Earth, has ever seen – and EVERYONE is standing on their own little power platform.  Economy over here!  Hey Hey climate change over here!  Bring God Back to the Classroom!  No.. No.. Equal Marriage rights over here!  And FINALLY someone, with the biggest balls I have never seen, decided to raise a hand and say – um, well what about women’s rights?  Or basic human rights?  See, over here, they’re trying to take our rights away…over here….Anyone?  When was that?  Like just a year ago..?   Just a month ago? Yesterday??  Anyhow, the point is we’ve reached a boiling point.  A tipping point…no, a fucking frenzy…and in my opinion, we’re all being duped.  But by whom?  And to what end?

And why is no one looking to blame themselves?

It’s easy, really.  I do it all the time.  I think I was trained to.  It’s from the Ophelia complex or PTSD or wounded animal, or whatever n the fuck happens to you when men begin chasing you at the tender age of eight.  (I stopped going to Psychologists after 10 years of therapy.  They didn’t have much more to teach me and didn’t do it any better than me anyhow. )  And so I learned how to fix myself – by jumping into situations with both feet and trying things out.  By not being afraid.  By being open.  By being curious.  By looking shit up.  By asking questions.  By allowing myself to have fun.  By exploring my passions…..By forgiving.

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