Sickness, Surgery and... Popcorn (part 1)
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Yeah, I know. It's been forever. On to the story of what's happened to me!
*WARNING - THIS PARAGRAPH CONTAINS TMI* (Too much information, over sharing, roughing the reader)
I've been having menstrual problems for a while now. Every time I had a little spotting during ovulation, I'd google around and read that it's totally normal for someone my age. Every time I had a period with lovely clumps of warm red jello sliming their way out of my cervix, I'd google and read that it's totally normal. I'm not one to completely trust even medical sites on the internet. So I'd meditate on my body; focus on my uterus, and find nothing wrong. Just heavy periods every 19-21 days.
I've been having periods every 19-21 days for a decade. Some times they'd last 4 days, sometimes a week. No biggie. I've never been anemic.
Then came November. I was (again) spotting during ovulation. I decided that no matter how "perfectly normal" this might be, I should get some tests done. That's what medical insurance is for, after all.
But it would have to wait until after my period. Can't do a pap smear during a period. It seemed to take forever to actually start menstruating. At least a week! I was truly thankful on Thanksgiving day when I finally started bleeding like a normal woman.
Except it wasn't normal. I was dropping clots the size of small pancakes. Not one or two, but dozens. And I bled for 15 days.
It was gross.
I smelled like oxidized copper.
Everything tasted metallic, and I was thirsty all the time.
I was so weak that I couldn't stand up in the shower. The steam made me feel sick.
I was reduced to sponge baths and washing my hair in the sink.
It was a miserable two weeks and a day. And yet, my body said it was just fine. No cancer, no weird ectopic magical pregnancy, no crazy hormone shifts. So when it finally stopped, I made a mental note to go see my doctor as soon as I had the strength to take a real shower.
Six days later, I started bleeding again. Made perfect sense. I get my periods every 19-21 days. 15 + 6 = 21. And I felt absolutely horrible. And frustrated! Dammit. I was on my period again. Can't get a pap smear! (Like a pap is the only test that can be done on a woman's reproductive organs. Duh)
Monday night, I was so weak and in so much pain, that I wondered how much dying hurt. And for the first time in my life I was afraid of death. Because the pain I felt combined with my weakness scared the crap out of me. I knew I wasn't dying. And I kind of understood, at last, that death usually involves being physically weak.
Tuesday morning, I called my doctor. I told them I'd take anybody who could see me. I was fine with a Physicians Assistant. I didn't care. I was bleeding, I was sick, and I needed it to be fixed. They could see me almost right away.
Great! I stuffed the last of my maxi pads in my purse and drove to the doctor.
Doctor's offices suck when you're truly unwell. So do emergency rooms. Both have uncomfortable seats and no way to lie down across them. So I sat upright and knitted. I even smiled and chatted with people who boggled at the 5 double point needles I was using to make a whatever it was. Really, I don't know what the hell I was making. Could have been the start of a mohair sock or the sleeve of a child's sweater. I just focused on knitting round and round and not letting my fear take control. I was afraid of more pain. I mean... worst case scenario, they give me a hysterectomy, right? Lots of women have those. I can live with that. It was the PAIN that I didn't want. So I knitted round and round and focused on staying calm.
A nurse called my name, weighed me, took me into a little room, checked my blood pressure and asked me questions. I explained about the 15 day period, the massive clumps of goo, and the funny taste in my mouth. She commented that I looked pale. I replied that I'm a redhead, I'm always pale, however; I was pale even for me. We both stared at my face in the mirror for a moment. Then she stabbed my finger with a little needle and took off with a dot of my blood. I marveled at the wonders of modern medicine - that one drop of blood was going to give them all the information they needed to make me stop bleeding. Sweet!
I'm making it sound like I was totally fine during this adventure. That's not true. I was weak and dizzy and my hands didn't really want to manage all those knitting needles. I felt queazy. I simply didn't see how letting any of those things overwhelm me would speed up the process of getting better. And I was certain that I was going to get better. My mind kept returning to this thought: Worst case scenario, I get a hysterectomy. I'll deal with that when my uterus is gone.
A few minutes later, the doctor came into the room wearing a look on her face that I hope you never see. She was very concerned and slightly frustrated, and a bit surprised, and there was some fear in there too. She had the face of a doctor who has to give bad news and has no idea how the patient will take it. I felt bad for her.
She told me that the drop of blood the nurse had run off with said my blood count was low. I was anemic. "Ah ha!" I thought. "So this is what anemia feels like!" I felt better already. But she still was wearing that face. Ok... it's more than just anemia. Best case, they give me a hormone shot - worst case, they take my innards. Let's see where I stood.
I have *no* idea what this means. It meant something to her though. My hemoglobin number was 7. That's very low. Low enough that I would need a blood transfusion.
Um, ok. Worse than a shot, waaaay better than a hysterectomy. And something that had never crossed my mind. A blood transfusion for a period? You've got to be kidding me!
She said I could go to the emergency room and get a transfusion, hormones to stop the bleeding, probably a D&C, and an ultrasound to see what's going on in there.
OR
I could go to the ER and get a blood transfusion and have the rest of the stuff done in a clinic the next day.
I said. "So. Either way, I'm getting a blood transfusion?"
She looked down at the printout of my blood test and said "Well, yes. I don't know what your normal hemoglobin count is, so I can't say for sure. And I do think you should get a transfusion as soon as possible. Preferably today."
My doctor's office is across the street from a hospital. It's a good hospital. My insurance likes the place to. She didn't once suggest I cross the street and go there. Instead, we discussed hospitals 20 miles away. I opted for Saint Anthony's. They're nice people. And competent. And the ER isn't usually crowded.
I thanked my doctor and left. Walking to the truck, I realized I'd left my cell phone at home. I sat in the truck and cried. blood transfusion
Then I wiped my eyes and drove home to call the hubby-man. I could have driven all the way to the hospital, but the hubby man would have been hurt that I didn't call him asap. Besides. I didn't want to go through a blood transfusion alone. I was really really scared.
Transfusions are for war wounds and terrorist victims and major surgeries. Not for an overly long period.
So I cried on an off the whole way home and scared the crap out of my husband when I called him in tears. "They said... (sniffle, hic) that I need (sob sob) a... (hic) a... (sniff,cry) ... blood transfusion! (waaaah!)
He was quiet, as if I had more to add to that "horror".
He thought it was going to be something BAD. Like a hysterectomy. Instead, I get to have a little blood. Isn't that why we all donate blood anyway?
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Monday, August 20, 2007
It Had To Happen Sooner Or Later
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I've spent years wondering if maybe I'm overprotective of my son. If maybe I do too much for him, and let him stand on his own too little. Today I found out what kind of man my 16 yr old has grown into.
He went two blocks away to the local 7-11 to buy some soda. On his way back, he encountered 6 teenagers. One asked for a soda. My son said, "No" and kept walking. Another said "Just give us the soda". My son turned to say "no" again, as he kept walking.
And was punched in the mouth 3 times.
At some point, he dropped the bag of sodas. The kids grabbed the drinks and ran off.
Next thing he knew, there were hands helping him up and people expressing outrage and a willingness to identify the attacker and his friends.
L realized he was bleeding a lot and tried to cover his mouth with his hand. Then he calmly walked back to 7-11, blood running out of his mouth and covering his hand, and asked to use the phone. Then he wished the kids wre still there, so he could flick his bloody hand at them and stain their clothes. He also wished he'd thought of it sooner.
Someone offered him their cell phone. L thinks that was an amazing gesture, considering that he'd probably get blood on the phone. He says he was very careful to hold the phone up to the non bloody side of his face.
Several people went and put ice in napkins for him.
And a lady in the store bought him more sodas.
L was overwhelmed by their kindness. He still had money in his pocket, he'd planned on buying his own soda again. And he got that everyone there wanted to do something to make it right. They all thought 6 teenagers ganging up on one was unfair, and hitting him over a few bottles of soda was very wrong.
So he let them help and thanked them all.
When I arrived in the truck, shaking and furious, I asked him 4 questions. Are you alright? Do you want to call the police? Do you want to go find them? (my personal preference, there) and Do you want to go home?
He rolled his eyes toward me, and I knew he wanted to go home. Not to be safe, but to be in a quiet place where he could review what had happened.
Taking him home was a real struggle for me. I wanted to hunt those bastards down and hurt them. I wanted to make them feel as powerless as I had felt when I got that phone call. That moment of knowing that he'd been robbed and was bleeding, but not knowing anything else... I felt powerless. Then I wanted revenge. Not for L. For myself. For that moment of helplessness.
I had to fight that urge down. And I remembered my mom, walking me around the neighborhood when I was 7 or 8, looking for the kid who'd beaten me up and broken my new glasses. I remembered how I just wanted to go home and deal with what had happened. Instead, we walked until we found him and mom started screaming at him. The kid ran into his house, which was exactly what my mom wanted. Now she knew where he lived. She screamed at his parents too, waving my bent and broken glasses at them.
As we left, I heard that kid crying, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Don't beat me!"
And I felt awful.
I remembered those glasses, my first pair that I got to wear for maybe a month. And I drove my son home.
Afterward, we sat on the sofa and watched recordings of Ninja Warrior and I listened as he talked out what had happened. He knew they didn't target him for any specific reason. He was alone, and it was something to do. That was it. Then he said something that made us both laugh. He said,
"Taking my Pepsi was adding insult to injury."
I couldn't help myself and burst out giggling. There is no more apt quote in the English language for what happened.
As upset as I am over my son being injured and insulted, I'm also very proud of him. He didn't break down and cry. He didn't go chasing after them. He did exactly what he should have done. He calmly went to the nearest phone and asked me to pick him up.
He kept his head.
And not once was he afraid.
So I know now. Thank God, I finally know. That no matter what life throws at him, my son will be ok.
.
I've spent years wondering if maybe I'm overprotective of my son. If maybe I do too much for him, and let him stand on his own too little. Today I found out what kind of man my 16 yr old has grown into.
He went two blocks away to the local 7-11 to buy some soda. On his way back, he encountered 6 teenagers. One asked for a soda. My son said, "No" and kept walking. Another said "Just give us the soda". My son turned to say "no" again, as he kept walking.
And was punched in the mouth 3 times.
At some point, he dropped the bag of sodas. The kids grabbed the drinks and ran off.
Next thing he knew, there were hands helping him up and people expressing outrage and a willingness to identify the attacker and his friends.
L realized he was bleeding a lot and tried to cover his mouth with his hand. Then he calmly walked back to 7-11, blood running out of his mouth and covering his hand, and asked to use the phone. Then he wished the kids wre still there, so he could flick his bloody hand at them and stain their clothes. He also wished he'd thought of it sooner.
Someone offered him their cell phone. L thinks that was an amazing gesture, considering that he'd probably get blood on the phone. He says he was very careful to hold the phone up to the non bloody side of his face.
Several people went and put ice in napkins for him.
And a lady in the store bought him more sodas.
L was overwhelmed by their kindness. He still had money in his pocket, he'd planned on buying his own soda again. And he got that everyone there wanted to do something to make it right. They all thought 6 teenagers ganging up on one was unfair, and hitting him over a few bottles of soda was very wrong.
So he let them help and thanked them all.
When I arrived in the truck, shaking and furious, I asked him 4 questions. Are you alright? Do you want to call the police? Do you want to go find them? (my personal preference, there) and Do you want to go home?
He rolled his eyes toward me, and I knew he wanted to go home. Not to be safe, but to be in a quiet place where he could review what had happened.
Taking him home was a real struggle for me. I wanted to hunt those bastards down and hurt them. I wanted to make them feel as powerless as I had felt when I got that phone call. That moment of knowing that he'd been robbed and was bleeding, but not knowing anything else... I felt powerless. Then I wanted revenge. Not for L. For myself. For that moment of helplessness.
I had to fight that urge down. And I remembered my mom, walking me around the neighborhood when I was 7 or 8, looking for the kid who'd beaten me up and broken my new glasses. I remembered how I just wanted to go home and deal with what had happened. Instead, we walked until we found him and mom started screaming at him. The kid ran into his house, which was exactly what my mom wanted. Now she knew where he lived. She screamed at his parents too, waving my bent and broken glasses at them.
As we left, I heard that kid crying, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Don't beat me!"
And I felt awful.
I remembered those glasses, my first pair that I got to wear for maybe a month. And I drove my son home.
Afterward, we sat on the sofa and watched recordings of Ninja Warrior and I listened as he talked out what had happened. He knew they didn't target him for any specific reason. He was alone, and it was something to do. That was it. Then he said something that made us both laugh. He said,
"Taking my Pepsi was adding insult to injury."
I couldn't help myself and burst out giggling. There is no more apt quote in the English language for what happened.
As upset as I am over my son being injured and insulted, I'm also very proud of him. He didn't break down and cry. He didn't go chasing after them. He did exactly what he should have done. He calmly went to the nearest phone and asked me to pick him up.
He kept his head.
And not once was he afraid.
So I know now. Thank God, I finally know. That no matter what life throws at him, my son will be ok.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Discovering
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Sinbad the Third, king of the cage and eater of mice and rats has passed away. He'd been going through a quiet phase, he usually does around this time of year. But he'd get active when I put food in his cage. Either his last meal bit him and I didn't notice, or he died of old age. Either way, I've been trying to find the source of a smell in the bedroom for DAYS. The hubby man discovered that it was the remains of Sinbad when he went to feed him today.
We don't plan on getting another reptile, and it's been a bad last few days; so we said goodbye and dumped the whole cage in the trash.
I guess I won't be bringing him to any more pet blessings, or teaching any little children that snakes aren't scary.
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Sinbad the Third, king of the cage and eater of mice and rats has passed away. He'd been going through a quiet phase, he usually does around this time of year. But he'd get active when I put food in his cage. Either his last meal bit him and I didn't notice, or he died of old age. Either way, I've been trying to find the source of a smell in the bedroom for DAYS. The hubby man discovered that it was the remains of Sinbad when he went to feed him today.
We don't plan on getting another reptile, and it's been a bad last few days; so we said goodbye and dumped the whole cage in the trash.
I guess I won't be bringing him to any more pet blessings, or teaching any little children that snakes aren't scary.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Hm
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My firstborn son is 18 years and half a day old now. He's officially old enough to go looking for his birth mom (me).
I don't really know what to say about it.
I spent 18 years wondering what this day would be like. It was pretty much like any other day, except late last night I suddenly started crying like crazy. I wasn't sad, or happy. I was just emotionally overwhelmed.
The hubby man held me and the friends I've made in second life gave me good advice like, "Wish him a happy birthday" and "Be happy that he made it to adulthood"
I'm blessed to know so many wise and caring people.
.
My firstborn son is 18 years and half a day old now. He's officially old enough to go looking for his birth mom (me).
I don't really know what to say about it.
I spent 18 years wondering what this day would be like. It was pretty much like any other day, except late last night I suddenly started crying like crazy. I wasn't sad, or happy. I was just emotionally overwhelmed.
The hubby man held me and the friends I've made in second life gave me good advice like, "Wish him a happy birthday" and "Be happy that he made it to adulthood"
I'm blessed to know so many wise and caring people.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
You People Are Weird
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My recent site stats show a huge interest in the close up shot of my stitches. If someone out there suffered an injury similar to my own, I feel for you.
To the person who searched for: how to protect self from animals in the wilderness ...
Generally, if they know you're coming, they'll get out of your way. If you stumble across a bear cub, get the hell outta there fast. Pretty much everything else will run from *you*.
I'm not sure how 'eat every other day blog' led to me. I eat every day, several times a day. Although the concept of consuming every other day is pretty interesting. Just consuming your day instead of having your day consume you.
Um. Anchor Slobber Aquamarine? I have no idea what you were looking for; but apparantly you found all those words on one page here. Congratulations!
And those of you wondering about blood diamonds - it's a name for diamonds that are sold to fund terrorism, civil wars, and atrocities beyond your imagining. Almost all blood diamonds pass through the hands of DeBeers. You know, the people who make all those nice diamond commercials? The company that tells you only diamonds show your love? DeBeers wholesales rough diamonds and controls 80% of the diamond market. If you want to be horrified, but educated; visit Amnesty International and search their site for blood diamonds.
.
My recent site stats show a huge interest in the close up shot of my stitches. If someone out there suffered an injury similar to my own, I feel for you.
To the person who searched for: how to protect self from animals in the wilderness ...
Generally, if they know you're coming, they'll get out of your way. If you stumble across a bear cub, get the hell outta there fast. Pretty much everything else will run from *you*.
I'm not sure how 'eat every other day blog' led to me. I eat every day, several times a day. Although the concept of consuming every other day is pretty interesting. Just consuming your day instead of having your day consume you.
Um. Anchor Slobber Aquamarine? I have no idea what you were looking for; but apparantly you found all those words on one page here. Congratulations!
And those of you wondering about blood diamonds - it's a name for diamonds that are sold to fund terrorism, civil wars, and atrocities beyond your imagining. Almost all blood diamonds pass through the hands of DeBeers. You know, the people who make all those nice diamond commercials? The company that tells you only diamonds show your love? DeBeers wholesales rough diamonds and controls 80% of the diamond market. If you want to be horrified, but educated; visit Amnesty International and search their site for blood diamonds.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Oh, What A Beautiful Morning!
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I tell ya, there are mornings - there are beautiful mornings - and then there is *this* morning.
I should put it in perspective. Last night I went to bed later than I'd hoped to. I had trouble falling asleep because my foot hurt that much, and it was too late at night to take even half a pain pill.
And yet,I slept soundly and awoke refreshed. I woke early too. None of the cats ran under my feet and tripped me. My teenage son got out of bed on time. The Levis 501's I bought before he was born fit me as comfortably as sweat pants this morning. No part of them was tight -not even across my hips. We had fog hovering above the river, and it smelled like fog instead of pollution. No birds had pooped on my windshield overnight. Traffic didn't get in my way. The stoplights were all green as I passed under them. L was early to school. I had time to pick up breakfast for the hubby man; and he was getting out of bed as I came in the door. AND we're probably going to get thunderstorms later today.
Yep. A perfect morning.
.
I tell ya, there are mornings - there are beautiful mornings - and then there is *this* morning.
I should put it in perspective. Last night I went to bed later than I'd hoped to. I had trouble falling asleep because my foot hurt that much, and it was too late at night to take even half a pain pill.
And yet,I slept soundly and awoke refreshed. I woke early too. None of the cats ran under my feet and tripped me. My teenage son got out of bed on time. The Levis 501's I bought before he was born fit me as comfortably as sweat pants this morning. No part of them was tight -not even across my hips. We had fog hovering above the river, and it smelled like fog instead of pollution. No birds had pooped on my windshield overnight. Traffic didn't get in my way. The stoplights were all green as I passed under them. L was early to school. I had time to pick up breakfast for the hubby man; and he was getting out of bed as I came in the door. AND we're probably going to get thunderstorms later today.
Yep. A perfect morning.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Sometimes There's Ugliness
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This morning I dashed into 7-11 to get some breakfast and lunch money for L. Ahead of me was a petite young woman in incredibly tight jeans. She was walking quickly, in a stilted, jerky kind of way. I wondered what her disability was, decided it was probably arthritis, and pondered the hardship of arthritis for such a young woman.
Although she appeared to be in a great hurry, she took the time to hold the door open for me. She ducked her head as I thanked her. I thought, "That girl needs more confidence". And went to get my breakfast -which took about 40 seconds.
At the register, the woman was ahead of me again. She was trying to fish money out of her front pocket, using her finger as a hook to wiggle the change and bills out. Her sole purchase was a $1.50 can of beer.
I noticed she had dropped a nickle so I bent to pick it up for her. As I was stooped, I saw a quarter and some pennies too. So I picked it all up and set it on the counter for her. She thanked me, and I saw her face for the first time. She looked at least as old as me; and she had a perfectly rectangular bruise blossoming over the bridge of her nose.
The little things I'd observed suddenly became huge. The discolorations on her arms weren't hives or bad skin, they were layers of bruises. Her fingers were swollen. There were old marks on her throat and collarbone.
I suddenly wanted to ask her if the beer was for her, or for the person who had mashed her face? And I realized that I wasn't willing to take her into my home and shelter her - because I didn't want the drama of driving her beater off my property.
And I felt like crap.
I have no idea why I wanted to help and protect a total stranger. Maybe because, at that moment, she would have let me? I don't know.
And I had a moment of clarity. Second Life is attractive to so many people because bruises don't show.
.
This morning I dashed into 7-11 to get some breakfast and lunch money for L. Ahead of me was a petite young woman in incredibly tight jeans. She was walking quickly, in a stilted, jerky kind of way. I wondered what her disability was, decided it was probably arthritis, and pondered the hardship of arthritis for such a young woman.
Although she appeared to be in a great hurry, she took the time to hold the door open for me. She ducked her head as I thanked her. I thought, "That girl needs more confidence". And went to get my breakfast -which took about 40 seconds.
At the register, the woman was ahead of me again. She was trying to fish money out of her front pocket, using her finger as a hook to wiggle the change and bills out. Her sole purchase was a $1.50 can of beer.
I noticed she had dropped a nickle so I bent to pick it up for her. As I was stooped, I saw a quarter and some pennies too. So I picked it all up and set it on the counter for her. She thanked me, and I saw her face for the first time. She looked at least as old as me; and she had a perfectly rectangular bruise blossoming over the bridge of her nose.
The little things I'd observed suddenly became huge. The discolorations on her arms weren't hives or bad skin, they were layers of bruises. Her fingers were swollen. There were old marks on her throat and collarbone.
I suddenly wanted to ask her if the beer was for her, or for the person who had mashed her face? And I realized that I wasn't willing to take her into my home and shelter her - because I didn't want the drama of driving her beater off my property.
And I felt like crap.
I have no idea why I wanted to help and protect a total stranger. Maybe because, at that moment, she would have let me? I don't know.
And I had a moment of clarity. Second Life is attractive to so many people because bruises don't show.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Birthing
.
Second Life really did eat me. Swallowed me whole.
In that alternate reality, the Hubby Man got a job as a dj. He worked at several clubs, and finally found a place to call home. We made pixel friends, danced to good music, became emotionally involved ... and then the club closed.
The people we'd come to know and love had nowhere to go. The place had been so great, that no where else could compare.
So, several of us got together and within the space of a week, built a club from scratch. Last night was our grand opening. It was wonderful. And exhausting.
Like giving birth, you go through stages. There's the "Ow, contraction, I'm kind of scared and kind of excited... I'm having a BABY!" phase. Then there's the transition phase, where it's just you and your pain. And then it's time to push. All 5 of us pushed like crazy. And now we're looking at this baby we've given birth to, and don't know where it puts us.
We built it for everybody. And we wanted to build a place that felt like home. we succeeded. Now we have to keep it going, even though each of us had taxed ourselves to the limit. And even though each of us had real life things happening too.
Sometimes I think I have everything under control, and that belief takes over and controls me. My friends and business partners suffered because of it. And that really sucks.
And, because it's St. Patrick's day, me and my red hair are staying in the house. Ans I'm wearing purple. Nyeah.
.
Second Life really did eat me. Swallowed me whole.
In that alternate reality, the Hubby Man got a job as a dj. He worked at several clubs, and finally found a place to call home. We made pixel friends, danced to good music, became emotionally involved ... and then the club closed.
The people we'd come to know and love had nowhere to go. The place had been so great, that no where else could compare.
So, several of us got together and within the space of a week, built a club from scratch. Last night was our grand opening. It was wonderful. And exhausting.
Like giving birth, you go through stages. There's the "Ow, contraction, I'm kind of scared and kind of excited... I'm having a BABY!" phase. Then there's the transition phase, where it's just you and your pain. And then it's time to push. All 5 of us pushed like crazy. And now we're looking at this baby we've given birth to, and don't know where it puts us.
We built it for everybody. And we wanted to build a place that felt like home. we succeeded. Now we have to keep it going, even though each of us had taxed ourselves to the limit. And even though each of us had real life things happening too.
Sometimes I think I have everything under control, and that belief takes over and controls me. My friends and business partners suffered because of it. And that really sucks.
And, because it's St. Patrick's day, me and my red hair are staying in the house. Ans I'm wearing purple. Nyeah.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Lazy
.
Actually I haven't been lazy, I've been busy. And my foot is having another healing spurt. Which is good, but I'm disappointed that I'm back to using my cane. It's temporary, I can cope.
On the Second Life front, I've been to busy and too lazy to go around and take interesting pictures. So, I found some links to interesting pictures instead. I do still plan on taking snapshots of some of the worst visual offenders; because really, if you ever plan on playing the game - you ought to be prepared.
photo links:
SL Adventures takes pictures of what he or she encounters. Sometimes it's pretty, sometimes it's a giant rat. You never know.
I thought this was pretty interesting, especially because they brought along a Thing In A Crate.
Anyone can buy looks in SL, so there are a lot of red haired female avatars. And a lot of big breasts or washboard stomaches. Plus there are a heck of a lot of tan people with tattoos. My avatar has orange hair. I had to do a lot of shopping to find the color I wanted. I found it at Calico Creations and the color is called "sunset". It's orange, I tell ya.
.
Actually I haven't been lazy, I've been busy. And my foot is having another healing spurt. Which is good, but I'm disappointed that I'm back to using my cane. It's temporary, I can cope.
On the Second Life front, I've been to busy and too lazy to go around and take interesting pictures. So, I found some links to interesting pictures instead. I do still plan on taking snapshots of some of the worst visual offenders; because really, if you ever plan on playing the game - you ought to be prepared.
photo links:
SL Adventures takes pictures of what he or she encounters. Sometimes it's pretty, sometimes it's a giant rat. You never know.
I thought this was pretty interesting, especially because they brought along a Thing In A Crate.
Anyone can buy looks in SL, so there are a lot of red haired female avatars. And a lot of big breasts or washboard stomaches. Plus there are a heck of a lot of tan people with tattoos. My avatar has orange hair. I had to do a lot of shopping to find the color I wanted. I found it at Calico Creations and the color is called "sunset". It's orange, I tell ya.
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