Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Picking up the tab.

Once again, yet - ONCE AGAIN, I am reminded about my friend's absence.

I don't know what it is, but I cannot make any gold in this stupid game. I try to figure it out, so I can have fun, have some gold stashed up for rainy days and otherwise, but just can't seem to do it. The jewel crafting profession has left me with nothing but rhinestones; leatherworking -- well, you actually have to get out there and hunt down some things, and I thought gee, perhaps Luperci's blacksmithing skills would work. Nothing. Like setting up a lemonade stand in a soda-pop town, no one wants what I have. And if I try to get chaos orbs, others need them, too. And hoping against hope, if I run in a guild group, perhaps some of my more financially well-established guildmates will allow me to get the orb is too much to ask. I am told to run on my own for the 'satchel.' I don't agree with the satchel that comes from queueing as a tank or healer--it's nice, sure, but I have always thought that every player should get the chance at something fun. And, that satchel usually has a few gumball machine treats in it.

I am tired of going dutch-treat. (Question: do the Dutch get insulted by this idiom? I would, I guess.) Tired of going out to eat and ordering water while everyone else gets lobster, and we split the bill. I want to be wined and dined a bit myself. Which is why, yet again, I miss my friend. Gold was not the priority. It was friendship over monetary gain. Bros before hos. (Sorry, couldn't resist.)

Now, I found my checkbook and am off to pay bills and pay my dues. Maybe the one weapon I was able to craft, after clawing and fighting my way to get five lousy chaos orbs, will sell. Working for a living - sigh. Maybe Blizz will treat us well soon.

Theme song: Money Changes Everything/Cyndi Lauper

Forest for the trees.

Yesterday I listened to a day-long presentation on brain research. The speaker was highly engaging, intelligent, and humble. I know that when a very smarty-pants person has to address a group of laypeople, she must bring the jargon down to an understandable level. And to be honest, I was not in the frame of mind to listen to medical or psychological terms yesterday afternoon, so I appreciate her analogy of this concept:

There are tree people, and there are forest people. (I personally think most of us are squirrels holding our nuts or opossums swinging by our tails, but no matter.) The tree people are the organized, detail people. They like to have order out of chaos, fold their underwear, match their socks, make lists, and actually check off items from the list. Go to the far end of the spectrum of tree people, and you have someone who is so uptight and inflexible, they just can't bend. The forest people, depending on how far the other end of the spectrum you go, are the "big picture" people. These are those of us who can live with some clutter, chaos, and get into what we perceive is the 'higher ideal' of creativity and common good. But, forest people march to their own drum, are often late, and commit the greatest sin of all--forget birthdays. And forest people don't put the toilet seat down. Luckily, there are tree people to remind them.

I bring this up because you may want to consider your tree v. forest people while playing. Was talking with GM the other day, and his ability to see the 'big picture' as well as the details of missteps and fire pits. He strikes a balance of both, which is optimal for raid leading. Unfortunately, and I will speak for myself, I have grown to depend on that balance--in other words, won't do any of the heavy lifting myself. The 'tree' people I know in the game are the ones I turn to when I don't feel like going to wowwiki or joystiq to look up some NPC's name or find the quest chain. Too lazy. I'm a forest person, duh! Look at the scenary! Let's write a story!

Many of my buddies will have a cocktail, or two - they want to change their real life role to another one in the game. It's frowned upon to drink on the job in most professions, say school bus driver or tiger dentist. Completely understandable. My point is, if you ever get frustrated, ask yourself, if the person who's upsetting the apple cart is in conflict with your own personality. Are you being all forest-y, when this person is being a tree? I find that the trees get far more irritated with the forests than the other way around. They are the steely-eyed missile men of the game -- know the phases, the goal, the details for every fight. We forest people just want to get the prize at the bottom of the cereal box. Oh, look! A squirrel!

Theme song: Rush/The Trees 

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Thank heavens for little gnomes...

Tall people take themselves much too seriously sometimes. It seems that every time I am in a dungeon, it is a dwarf or a gnome who lightens the mood. Or, if the mood is lightened, look down. You'll see the source of good cheer.

Take this little mage for example:
My Winterspring cub gets all tuckered-out. Poor little fluffball. She has a habit of just taking little kitty-naps wherever, whenever she feels like it. (I am convinced she has saved my tail by tripping the bad guys.) Here is a shot of a cute little mage who decided it was time for a nap, too, right next to my kitty-cat. There is lot of running in circles in the Violet Hold, and we all took five.

Shorties get the job done. Love watching a gnome DK or warrior tank: the David v. Goliath tune always inspires.

Here in my real world, we had a few days of heat, and now it's back to Darkshire days. Yesterday in a meeting I was telling a friend about my admiration of sparky gnomes facing down big brutes, and realized I had a smile on my face for the first time all day. I am smiling now. Kisses, little gnomes. You don't make room to be judgmental.

Sunday, August 28, 2011


I am sitting here, getting teary, and wondering why. I guess it is, things that I thought, and things that I held true, change in such a volatile way when the group dynamic changes. One addition or personality, or big characters, change the tone and direction of guild chat or the entertainment/social side of the game so much for me, and I don't know why. Cross-dressing rogue friend said to me, "You are very capable of avoiding that situation in real life, you never put up with that--why do you do so in this guild? "They've" been doing that to you all summer?" Well, he has a point. For the most part, many of my guildmates are wonderful people. In fact, I am certain all of them are wonderful people, and don't kick puppies, punch nuns, or leave the toilet paper roll empty. But there are some big personalities, those who suck the oxygen out of the room and everyone dies laughing. A lot of one-upmanship and blarney chokes the flow of chat. Tonight, I felt myself shrinking smaller and smaller. I had such a fun morning, too: great group that achieved so much, and it just clicked, faster than a summoning stone.

But, I find myself feeling this way from time to time, that sense of not belonging, or not even wanting to, like some inside joke everyone else gets but I am just kind of baffled. In a few days/weeks it won't matter. Real life encroaches. And my recreational goals need to change, too. By tonight, after dinner, my little beautiful angel priest healer will be level 80. Tank girl is almost done with  the Molten Front dailies, or will be tomorrow. Shaman-chica has known successful top-ranked dps scores.

I am hoping that my new circle of friends in the guild are not shallow--I don't believe them to be, not at all. I have entrusted them with my most precious commodity, my time, as they have trusted me, too.

Ah, the power of "ignore." They have all learned this long ago.

Friday, August 26, 2011

Limericks for one day...

There once was a draenei with big horns
So big they were, like ears of corn
On each side of her head
They barely fit in her bed
Size does matter, she could have sworn

A beautiful paladin, into a dungeon she went
Righteous defense she constantly spent
Pulling back mobs, she skillfully clobbered
All over her orbs they sloppily-slobbered
And drool on her chestguard she began to lament

" It's right there, but not quite."


Since the time I have been playing, about a year and a half, three players have reported seeing other draeneis, shamans no less, who resemble "Matty." One even said he had to rub his eyes to make sure it wasn't me.

Well, as I was walking down the street, doing my jewelcrafting daily, I see this girl:

Hirsute Hussy!
Not only does she look like me, but my Hyjal bear cub didn't even recognize me, and sat right next to her and her stinky little butt-wiping dog! Oh! The nerve! Like to rip her bleach-blond hair right out from the tender roots!

Which leads me to my point:
Draenei girl haircuts = not good. They are some left over from Farah Fawcett's heyday of feathered bangs and big poofs. Luperci has had her hair cut no less than approximately 45 times. She has tried blond, long,  straight, up, and every time ends up in the same pigtails. Matty's hair hasn't changed except for once. (And now this trollop comes waltzing down the Whisperwind streets...! Shammy RAGE!)

I have been told, repeatedly, in a nerd-tastic tone, that hair pixels are tough to model. And just like the hairdresser we love, when we bring in a photo of Jennifer Anniston or Selma Hayak and say "Cut it like that," what we're really saying is, "...and I'll take a side of plastic surgery too to look like her." It is the magic. I know -- men will never, ever understand this. I get it. The only man who understood good hair is Samson, and look what happened to him.

Now Night Elf females are given many more choices: they can have the Fook Yu or Fook Mi look:

...and in just about any color desired. Draenei females are limited in their choices. It's feathered look 1977 or feathered look 1979.

Or really, really unattractive, like Sinead O'Connor shaved. Or soccer-mom-ish.

It would be too much to ask if the Transmorgifierblahdeblahhoopdejoo thing provided more hair style choices, I know.

And while crawling over the web today, found this gem:

 It wasn't just me who was irked by the World of Dresscraft comment:

...and!  Darkmoon Faire!

Just talking about that today with some Druids by the water cooler!

And I do appreciate Manalicious' artwork. She is incredibly talented. I can't help but wonder, though, how Arthur Rakham would have drawn a Draenei female. One can only imagine.

Postcript: Things that do kind of, a little bit, maybe, just a tad irk me: When players tout that they "have boobs!" Okay, sweetie - 40% of us do who play WoW. That may impress the wanker down the block, but not sure that one is a buff anymore. What does that have to do with haircuts? Not much, but if you're trying to impress anyone with your feminine wiles, well....

*"Trouble" is the name of my toon's haircut. Oh yeah. You copy my groove, there's gonna be trouble all right.

Theme song: Cake/Short Skirt/Long Jacket (Lou Reed, is that you?)

It's okay.

Postcript: Dang, fresh out of jet-skis.

Story Time: Elements

The grit mixed with the sweat on the back of her neck. Its mixture made for unwelcome mud, and the weight, however marginal, was just enough to tip the scales from capability to defeat. She couldn't stand another responsibility right now, not even carrying a grain of dust on her shoulders. Her sisters were unaware of how their demands were taxing her spirit. Luperci needed mounds of truegold, a 'deal of a lifetime' to make weapons to sell for profit. Not a single one of Mattty's sources could or would make truegold for her at reasonable prices. Gods, Lupe was mercurial and mercenary sometimes. Everyone wanted something, everyone wanted a cut. Zep recently wrote her requesting more gold for her expensive enchanting training and tailoring. Matty tried not to roll her eyes thinking, "Ah, yes, the little princess needs a new flying carpet; last month's model isn't good enough for her now..."Matty moved mountains for those girls. And normally, she did so with love and patience. But neither of her two younger sisters thought to ask what she might need or want. If she asked for something in return, they dodged and made their excuses. "Can't right now, Mat...will try another day!" She really didn't mind, but--was feeling broke, and broken.

Yesterday while aiding a sweet little druid cub obtain a black drake, fire ravaged her defenseless healing armor. Of all the elements, aggressive fire never became her friend. There would always be distrust. Water, air, and earth: these she understood, and even loved. Fire: fire got out of control too quickly, fire was indiscriminate, and fire scarred. A cooking fire, fire in a hearth, a campfire, and a candle or two, were the only welcome flames. Fire was everywhere these days, in these times. She looked suspiciously at her cooking fire; poor little embers were actually afraid of her.

She respected earth most of all. Earth lived: if it ever rolled, rocked or quaked it was usually because fire was antagonizing and mocking deep below. Then earth would show its true power, shaking up land, trees, and creatures, like an angry giant rolling over in a nightmarish sleep. But earth was good, too. The landslide enchants on her weapons served her diligently. Sometimes earth was stubborn, and could not be reasoned with; however, she was usually right, so no argument necessary. Time was on earth's side.

For peace, she sought water. She knew of a place in Stranglethorn where there were waterfalls and pools that poured in privacy and solitude. Too many other pools had lurking trolls in the bushes, but here, no one found these sanctuaries yet. The water poured down in torrents of warmth, with intermittent currents of cooler water. Unlike the wooden and mortar structures, water was home, a comforting place of peace. Her water-breathing spell made it possible for her to survive. The sounds underwater, other-worldly, blocked out the noise pollution, allowing her to think, and then more importantly: not think. Just be.

But air: this is where intelligence spikes and resolve is tested. Invisible air, the very essence of faith. Little human priest, in a dungeon, thought she would be funny if she pulled players with Leaps of Faith. Matty never said a word, for she was sure that the human did not understand the sacredness of this spell. It was not to be used in jest. She kept her irritation to herself, making a silent promise that when her friend returned, they would do two things: stay close, and then break a few hearts around Stormwind. He helped her with her sisters, with her responsibilities, and their friendship of fair trade and help--she sorely missed this. More than she could express. She was so tired of others disregard or disrespect, saying her accent was too thick, or she was wrong, off, diagonal or cross. She understood that his nature was of air, the wind. She had faith in his return, or if not his return, then his friendship, unseen, but there. Like faith.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

In the pink.

Today was a pretty good day. Hydra with halitosis somewhat subdued, and got a chaos orb. I had a few deaths-by-add on failures, but otherwise, all sum total, not bad. Cheered myself with a Draeneic Pale Ale and rode around, fire-elf style, on my temporal pink elephant.

Mi amigo - I have a really good dagger recipe waiting: by the time you come back, I am trying to have it ready for you. You're not missing much right now. No worries.

Face it.

Okay, I try not to let too much of real world stuff in the WoW life, and vice versa. And I will speak in metaphors. But starting today, I have a big, angry, messy, thousand-headed hydra to slay. I wish this was an exaggerated metaphor, but it is not. This hydra sprouts heads with sharp teeth, glaring eyes, oozing with disease, at the least touch of a blade, water, tears, anger; and worse of all: it needs some chewing gum. And that's against the rules. Fresh out of supernatural-spearmint.

But I have to face it, and conquer it.

I did not create it, I did not cause it. But I am expected to kill it.

So, this morning, I reminded myself of what a guildmate said to me the other night. He said, in a moment of unexpected kindness, (for his defenses were down), that the people I work with are lucky to have me. If you knew this young man, you'd know for him to give a compliment is a rare drop indeed. Like, Sword of a Thousand Truths rare.

On I go, with my compliment in my pocket, my shields up, and I believe, (because a human paladin told me so), the only way to fight this particular monster is with vats of elbow grease, squeezed from the levers of a hundred arms, and vertebrae fluid. Wish me success.

1. Do not judge my bad grammar too harshly before 8AM.
2. Many heads rolled.
3. A band of young squires came to my rescue, just at my darkest moment.

Drabble: Comfort food.

In that hour before the sun comes out, when night fools itself into believing in eternity, her eyes opened. She thought of the returned letter, filled with beer-basted crocolisk and grilled dragon. She sent the crocolisk to Luperci, (couldn't let this go to waste). In a very un-ladylike manner, Matty flopped on the curb, shared the dragon meat with a friendly rat, and flame-shocked him: at least he met his glirine maker with a full tummy. She didn't care if the dinner was full of fat and salt, and made her feel chubby. Eating it made her feel temporarily better.

Monday, August 22, 2011

Field trip.

The fact that there isn't a hole punched in my monitor attests solely to the fact I don't want to go to the ER right now like some hillbilly with a misunderstanding with a staple gun.

I am trying, still, (guildmates: SHUT UP) to get the Singing Sunflower. The pet in question CREEPS ME OUT, but I am 19 pets away from Nuts the Squirrel, and want to see him do his tricks. (And who doesn't like a tricky squirrel?)

Dinner is delayed. My laundry is molding. And I am getting a bit glassy eyed. I am now on the last leg, "Lawn of the Dead," of this quest chain. Having the zombies eat my brains is actually sounding refreshing.

In any case, if you are wondering how to get this psychotic pet yourself, and know for certain, with no doubt, that Blizzard hates all of us, here is where you go:

See that little arrow? That is me, before I went crazy.

and this is who you talk to:
Brazie has been huffing his fertilizer, I think.
If a real zombie came to my house right now, not sure I would have the survival instincts to give it a double-tap and be on my way.


Postscript: Success:

Drabble: Dazed and confused.

The sun’s rays stood strong for days facing the encroaching clouds, until this morning the fire surrounded to the water. In the Uldum heat, during this brief spell, Luperci continued her training. A twisty group of pygmies constantly shouted obscenities at them. Though she had a salty tongue herself on occasion, she knew the best way to communicate with them was with her sword and shield. Those they understood. Luperci sliced the air with her shield, a gift from her sister, imbued with her sister’s love and protection. She watched in disbelief has the shield missed targets, the clang echoed.

Postscript: I thought I was doing something wrong. And perhaps I am. Guarf asked me how I liked the new changes, but honestly, I am confused still. Too much of a rookie tank to understand the mechanics of this new role. But I have witnessed my shield "missing" again and again, flying off like a stoner's Frisbee at a dog park.

Maybe this will explain it:

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Going to the chapel...

They can fight ROUSs together! 

Mazel tov to two guildmates who are planning their nuptuals - gettin' hitched, shotgun, jumping the broom, tying the knot, etc. They did in fact, meet through other players in the game. Best wishes to them both!

Now...the old saying, for the bride, something borrowed, something blue, something old and something new, Azeroth style:

Borrowed: My Embersilk Dress--but if you get a stain on it, you're paying for the dry cleaning
Blue: Bride is a mage, so perhaps her own class color would suffice?
Old: Any legendary weapon will do - get busy!
New: Nuts the Squirrel, in case things get boring on the wedding night...(as if- this is a saucy mage!)

Tourist. (edited)

Matty wonders how they did that...

There was a brief moment when I took my haemophobic Death Knight, Morphemia, to the Horde side of the tracks. As I always do, gave my tusk-ed friend a hug and he said, "BOOOO!" That was a major faux pas. I may have well told him he looked pretty and should ride frosting-covered unicorns over puppy rainbows. That insulting gesture, compounded with the fact I felt completely disoriented in the new city and had other friends who needed Morphemia's level to complete some task or another, caused my jump back to Alliance. 

All of us have experienced when a visitor, family, friend, or acquaintance, comes to our home turf. It's a joke that we are never tourists with the familiar, we have to wait until we have a visitor before we do anything. I have spent the past fortnight touring around my native land, visiting things and sights I haven't seen in years: beautiful natural and man-made achievements alike. Favorite foods, customs, idioms, entertainment, and mostly personal stories, are shared when a visitor is in town. Time moves on, though: there's construction, changes, old shops I had counted on were no longer there (most notably independent booksellers--saddened, but not surprised, as I hypocritically check the battery life on my Kindle), the gentrification of some blocks and the destruction of others. In the past few weeks, I've explained the English words and colloquialisms "roadkill" and "suburbia." 
Lupe meets Caylee Dak during a detour in Shattrath...

We players often look at the big, loud, most impactful decisions Blizzard makes. We all know or can easily find out who those are behind those big production and direction decisions. Those gentlemen (sadly, not enough women in game design) are sitting at the big, long table on stage at Blizzcon. 

But, I don't know who or how many are behind the other contributions--meaning, I don't know who the Blizz employees are who understand that to keep a city, town, or any environment alive, the engineers and architects are just as important, no--perhaps more important, than the designers who come up with how Arthas will look, or the cut-of-his-jib face on Deathwing. I'm talking about the designers, illustrators, and writers who have an understanding for cityscapes, back alleys, interior design, textures, light/shadow, the NPC placement, and keeping the nooks and crannies interesting. Tip of the Worgen Top Hat to them, the Underpants Gnomes behind the scenes. (Or perhaps they are more like House Elves, and no one will give them a sock to free them.)

There are countless lore stories, rumors, and mysteries around the virtual world our intrepid little characters tromp around in, from the grand to the details, such as discovering the best place to buy a Darnassus peach or where to pick Purple Lotus. You may still be able to find where your elf boyfriend carved your initials in that enchanted treant, but it may have been turned to ashes, sadly. As much as we all love new content and stories, sentimentality has its place, too. (Hadrian's Wall still stands in England, though Hadrian has long turned to worm chow. I can just imagine some Roman centurion, putting those rocks in some order, knowing that he is never getting back to the Tuscan sun, feeling a touch homesick. Maybe his new British bride made him happy. One can only hope.)

The other morning, in fact, a sweet guildmate asked where the Justice Point vendor was located in Stormwind; she had a hole burning in her pocket, and wanted to blow the wad. Her experience has been solely horde up till this mage she's leveled in our guild, so naturally she didn't have her bearings yet. It wasn't that I was being impatient, but since the vendor is by the training dummies, thought she could fly around and look, too. Sometimes you just want a linear path, from Point A to B. No short-cuts, no detours. I suggest, though, that once in awhile, take those detours, as the 'crow flies' so to speak, and see where your journey takes you. Just the other day, I found a great little pub that sells Fizzy Fruit Wine, down this alley, behind a rat, next to a gnome. So sweet.

Postscript: Read this amazing perspective when you can:

Saturday, August 20, 2011

Drabble for a lost girl

She pulled the Golden Sansam from its rubbery tethers in earth.  The arid, wispy topsoil belied the plants’ tenacity to find water. When she found a patch, no matter the near danger or threat, she harvested it. It reminded her of her mother, who had used the tender shoots in fresh greens, cool and crisp. The story of lost parents was too common now. She was not alone in her experience, but alone by choice in path. But the rogue girl, soft as soot, kept rooted to her comrades: her loyalty to the guild was true: abandonment, not an option.

Weapons A-Go-Go

Lupe has all kinds of great new weapon recipes. You got the truegold money, honey, I got the orbs.

Death by St. Pauli Girl

Not what you had in mind?

"...wonder if I can use my Tankards of Terror on a mace or two when 4.3 comes out....?"

Friday, August 19, 2011


I think the excitement over the Transmorgifier is greater than Deathwing's appearance. As a relatively newer player, I do not share the same level of nostalgia for previous game versions' gear sets. But boy-oh-boy, most of my player friends do. Grown men, who are looking back through their years of game play, searching for that once-sold graive or shoulder set, have ventured back into the Black Temple to find just the perfect thing to wear to the Deathwing Prom. I have to laugh, too, because of the "'s not the World of Dresscraft..." comment from last year's Blizzcon. You may scoff all you want, good sir, but apparently, this is what grown-ups still like to do - play dress-up. I would be fired if I took an axe and mace to work with me, however tempting, and however enchanting they may be, (even if they do go with my boots, er, shoes). So, in this world, if I get to use more of my imagination and create a unique character, then that is a good thing. That's all we ever want - individuality.

In all of the buzz, I must admit, I am pretty excited I saved my Frost Witch's Spauldrons, the ones with tiny shoveltusks who blow their horns every so often. And, I remember thinking while acquiring these pieces for Zep (see photo below: too lazy to look them up right now) that I wish I could use them forever--the contrast of the black with her pale, angelic face, to me, looks beautiful. 

I guess now I can. Glad they still fit.
Gotta admit: She looks pretty hot.
Postscript: But the letters stay. No matter how much closet space I have.

Theme Song: Heartbreaker/Led Zeppelin

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Bad Mojo.

Yes, I adore my baby bear cub from Mt. Hyjal. I cuddle next to my fluffy Winterspring cub. And my Magic Lamp lights my way when I am lost.

But Mojo loves me back.

He be a very horny little toad, mon, and follows me everywhere. Countless hexing sticks were conjured and disenchanted, used up magically, in the search for him. If I am seeking a prince in a kiss, he will never be found behind those warty, moist lips. But he is darling, and loyal, even in his amphibious duality.
Mojo loves Matty.

Por favor, no tire de mí agro

I am an intuitive learner, not a logical one. I sense something, and then gather evidence to support or disprove my theories. I go on hunches, and ask questions. Sometimes this makes me seem really stupid, and other times I can come off like an idiot savant.

So, took rookie tank for a few runs this morning. (Am planning another post about Matty's bad mojo night last night, where the tank was practically cooing over the new threat changes. So much so, in fact, their giddiness challenged the DK to 'unleash' and he did 25k fairly frequently. More on that later.) Little Miss Smarty-Tank still has a lot to learn. We know this. I admit it, freely. Action bars, and understanding cool-downs, taunting, hammers, nails, screwdrivers, and how not to cut off her fingers on the table saw, are all safety tips she needs to learn. In any case, ran with a guildmate, and asked another buddy to go. There was a DK, mage, and something else. Not a druid or hunter - but don't remember. In any case, DK made it very difficult for me to gather aggro/threat. In fact, they all did. We were in Vortex Pinnacle, at one of the spots where there are more than a few trash mobs. Could not, NOT get one of the damn things out of the triangle. The player was very polite, but perhaps a bit passive/aggressive when I had asked, and kept asking, not to pull aggro from me. (He spoke Spanish, by the way, and I nicely told him that those language issues were not a problem for me. Gracias. [so--how do you say, "Stop pulling aggro from me, please?"]*

And the thing is, one stupid mob pull I have done quite well on Noobalicious Tank Girl in the past resulted in a wipe. I wonder if the players will reflect on their actions, that tanks, even with--is it increased threat? No threat? I AM SO CONFUSED - changes in threat, still need to follow the tank's lead? We are still designed to take a licking and keep on ticking, aren't we?

Anyway, would someone, for the love of Theck, explain this to me?
Sacred Duty: Threat Was Good

And Bubble's has her opinion, too:

So, here are my intuitive thoughts:

Tanks should:

  • Keep the bad things close to them and in a good position so DPS doesn't get hurt and can kill them fast
  • Make sure the healer has mana, and is safe, too
  • If a bad thing gets loose, get it back fast, like an underage Mclovin trying to get into a strip joint- bounce it back
  • Let the group know which bad thing to kill first, or spells, or whatever
  • Go fast, but don't leave good elves behind
As ignorant and noobtastic as this post is, I will graciously ask you all to cut me a break. If you knew what I was thinking about at 4:30am this morning I would have your love and support. But love only goes so far: if any of you want to respectfully explain to me anything you think you should, please. I need to pass this class.

PS For the most part, guildmates and strangers in PUGs alike have all been very encouraging and complimentary. So far, no kicks, nice feedback, and good manners. This is a social game, and usually I am just as sweet as I can be. If you're looking for a pendejo tank, you won't find it with me.

Now you see her... you don't.
Conjuring flying over Stormwind...

There is a mysterious character in Whisperwind who goes by the name 'Conjuring.' She, presumably, is a Level 1 Mage, who spends her days singing Beatles and Led Zeppelin songs on Trade Chat, and posting very expensive items, such as Truegold, Dark Iron, and the like, in the Auction House. I have seen her once, in Darnassus, at one of the vendor's cottages. Every so often, like a child throwing a rock at the spooky house on the corner, or teasing the strange old lady who lives down the way, a troll will bait her, or go all-caps screaming in Trade Chat for her to be quiet. I must admit, she has piqued my curiosity. And, I am certain she is perfectly harmless. 

(Is that gingerbread I smell baking? Maybe I'll just follow my nose...)


Not sure how he knew, but Guarf sent Matty a gift today--a book of dirty limericks written by dwarfs. She had given her copy to a very dear friend months ago, and is certain that it is in safe hands, and has never regretted that gift. But she had never seen another one like it, either. The one Guarf gave her was a little more frayed, and the glue was cracking from the binding. But, it did have a bookplate, ex libras, of none other than Kudran Wildhammer himself.

That's her story, anyway.

Portrait of a Wolf, with Balloon

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Drabble for a Spirit

She knows him as Death, in any language. But not a cruel personification, not an end, just a shadow that burned. Had never said one cold word to her, had never been anything but the utmost gentleman. He wanted her alive, needed her warmth. Friendliness and wisdom of dwarfs, the humor and spunk of gnomes, and pragmatism and practicality of humans were not what she needed right now. She doubted herself; and to be safe, she superstitiously spilled salt on the sepulcher’s threshold.  This would protect her from harm, and maybe, grant her wish. She missed him. That was all.

Got threat? Apparently, yes!

Does this mean you don't have to ask hunters to turn off growl anymore?

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Lore noob: Spooky good.

Of course, if you're looking for something comlpetely different,  while driving home tonight caught the tail-end of this:
Dracula's Guest....and I knew the voice, but could not place it - it was none other than Aasif Mandvi, of Daily Show fame.


I imagined crypts and sepulchres crumbling around Matty's hooves, stepping in the swirls of bone dust and blood ash.

Good stuff.

Border patrol.

You shall not pass!
Last night, long-time player friend introduced me to Cross-Realm dungeon finder. We had a blast. It was just fun to be on equal footing with him leveling-wise, and kind of felt like we had snuck into the concert for free. Was mentioning this to a guildmate this morning, and he said it would probably: A. Not last or B. Cost More Money. His feeling was Blizzard already had enough of his time and money; not only that, but he was getting bored. Might start playing the new Star Wars game.

Pay attention, Blizzard, please.

My play time is beginning to need to wind down here very soon. Had a young friend ask me recently if I ever got bored, and the answer was mildly complicated. I am, in some ways. But I probably won't replace it with another game, unless it's what my dear friend told me about, Ico, or Wii Dance Party. I'm still 'new' enough that my primary characters are still different and engaging enough for me to want to try to reach some level of success.
I am just not sure.

What I do know is the dungeons were hilarious. We had a worgen (!) who wanted to know where or how to get PVE gear. He was level 76. He really didn't know. A lot. Next up: a tank, in Gundrak, GUNDRAK for Pete's sake, say he was "carrying" everyone after one snake mob and the healer, me, (Zeptepi) was an idiot for using Prayer of Mending. I know. I know what it does. I just thought it was pretty and I was BORED. He actually left. Poor little psycho: kind of feel sorry for him.

And, the thought of taking even one more character through Molten Front doesn't inspire me. In fact, my reaction is more akin to having to pull out belly-button lint from a herpes-infected Bengali tiger on the streets of Omaha.

Does that sound like fun to you, Blizzard? 

I want to take the word "grind" out of my vocabulary with time in Azeroth. What's headed my way work-wise is enough. I want play to be just that, play. With friends. Real friends.
What I would like is not only cross-realm dungeons, but cross-realm quests, dailies if need be, etc. These are just for Real ID friends, as it should be. I don't want to have to stop to pray over some worgen who can't find pants.

Monday, August 15, 2011

Limerick for a virgin raid...

She had no title, she had no rank
Not superior or qualified, just a rookie tank
She went to a raid
Hoping to get consecrate fire-laid
But her tail, Cho'gall just wanted to spank

My guildmaster gave "Lupe," now aka "Lucy" a shot at a raid the other night. I know...I macho tanky types got it all figured out months ago. It was so much fun though. Between real life activities, and for-the-love-of-Hodir, just haven't had time to do much in terms of building strong macros, etc. But Lucy is a dedicated tank. At one point, was asked to switch into Ret spec, and to my horror, realized I didn't even have the talent tree finished. No ret gear, nothing, nada, zilch, bupkiss. Kind of like asking this:

to do this:
Choking indeed.
Oh well - no one said raising a tank girl was going to be easy.

Limerick for empty pockets.

At the auction house she searched for some new pants
Of buying Theck's Seal there wasn't a chance
She knew of some dwarfs, dodgy, it's true
Loan sharks with gold, interests rates waived in lieu
For many pints of stout, Santa suits and an exotic laptop dance

(or two)

"Curse, Guarf...I can't make it fit into a proper limerick..."

"Try again, lass, otherwise you'll forfeit the wager."

Saturday, August 13, 2011


Pandarens vs. Ethereals?

Top Ten Things: Guildmaster Groupies

Xak. Here's to you, my roguish friend.

Here is what I love about my guildmaster: (many of these were contributed by other guildmates)

  1. Has a voice like a 1940s fighter pilot--I know that is a horrible description, but when he's on Vent and says, "Head's up, ladies..." I feel like my name is "Red" and I'm the co-pilot in a bomber on a midnight mission. But instead of Nazis, it's trolls and ogres. 
  2. Knows a lot of $3 words
  3. Understands this game inside and out - kind of a foul-mouthed Encyclopedia Brown
  4. Makes an attempt to include everyone (inclusion means a lot of things, and covers a lot of ground...)
  5. Knows his class, knows your class, and will let you know what you don't know about all the things you should know, you know?
  6. Witty and charming, when he wants to be, thus reinforcing his psychopathic, err, focused energies
  7. Knows how to win friends and influence people. (However, after a diverse PUGd event, I always make sure other players don't know where I live.)
  8. His acerbic nature and hefty hubris allow others to stand on his gigantic 'pauldrons:' he will admit to making a mistake. If he does, which is rare. 
  9. "Kind of sexy in a sweet way." Quote from another cougar. I am not sure about sexy, or sweet. But he is charismatic to most of the ladies in the guild. Even Manpants.
  10. And I do have a soft spot for his punk-ass...BECAUSE: ultimately, he is a pretty great guy. Helps keep our guild "culture" at its petri-dish level of fungi  refreshing.

The Pug Breaker

We have a new guildmate who's really fit right in. I'm going to take credit for picking him off of the streets and inviting him. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Anyway, ran Zul'Aman with him yesterday, his first time there. It's obvious he's been playing for awhile and understands the nuances and mechanics much better than I: although getting there, it's taken awhile. (Queen of the Understatement today - rocking the crown.)

Ah, tanks.

The heroes' hubris is sometimes their strongest defense mechanism.

He marks things diamonds, expecting me to know when to hex something: I tell him I was looking for the triangle: if you insist, lady.

Most is fine, not great, but fine. We wiped on my least favorite fight, the Jan'alai fight.

Run back (hey, I didn't get lost!) and the tank says, "Hurry up, f*ckers, I gotta get on my bowflex."

Our tank.

New guildmate informs me this is a joke. (Because chip-flicking-off-of-tummy-tanks don't own bowflexes).

Next fight, I do this:
And tank asks where did that come from?

"It was in me all along."

More Zul:


Thursday, August 11, 2011

Culture clash.

Recent thoughts on Guild Culture from expert bloggers/players:


Of course, these two posts are as different as their writers. Author's style and audience awareness are key.

Editor's Note: Please check out Manalicious' post on guild culture, too:

Again, I can't help but draw parallels between my culture at work and my time spent in Azeroth. If I think on it, the reasons I adore my guild is because they are the opposite of my work environment, or I should say, the opposite of the powers that be. In my own little cadre of rogues, druids, priests, and paladins at work, we are just as tight-knit as any group. Some have gone on to other places, because they could not tolerate the constant crashing on the rocks that has been the norm rather than the exception. Our captains have been promoted to admiral mid-voyage on more than one occasion, leaving us crew to batten down the hatches. They took the compass with them, and the sextant fell overboard. My stupid metaphor would be imagine doing a five-man and every third one the tank leaves mid-fight. That would get old, wouldn't it?

If I had a boss who was like a great guildmaster, this boss would trust my professional judgment, my intelligence, and in general, make me feel like they liked me. And would probably not put too much pressure on me (check) and be respectful and funny (check, check again). That's all anyone really wants, just to feel liked. Unfortunately, some people, when they sense they don't fit in or are not liked, react so strongly, and basically go kind of bat-sh*t crazy. I've seen it. The crazy.

I have had bosses who make me feel like I'm a worthless human being. And I have had bosses who never make me feel that way, who make me feel like I'm working "with" instead of "for." Guess which one is more motivating?

Sometimes people stay in any situation because of the old expression, 'the devil you know is sometimes better than the devil you don't.' The important word here is 'devil' because most leadership has to be tough, strong, and make difficult decisions. And it can be evil. It can become a war of attrition when someone doesn't fit in, and the others make their lives so prickly and uncomfortable they end up leaving. Sometimes, we foolishly wait for change that is systemically impossible. In other words, it ain't ever gonna happen. It's tough to let go, too.

In my parallel worlds, I will stick it out in my real life work, because ultimately, it is important, and I'm good at it. In my virtual world, I'm getting better at that, too, and need to remember that if it's not fun, it's not worth time there. So far, the fun comes from the friendships.

And I thank heavens my bonuses and payscale aren't tied into my dps scores.

Drabble: Poisoned

Under the stairwell, half wanting to be noticed, half willing to slice the throat of any voice that spoke, the rogue sat. Triumvirates of marrow, skin, and leather: tanned, shellacked protection covered him from his white, matted hair to his thorny boots. Gritty dirt and dried blood danced on his poisonous blades. No question of his lethal nature. Sickened by years of marrying edges with poison. Rogues don’t live long lives. No quiet death in his sleep, no telling of boring stories of the kidneys kicked or the backs stabbed to restless grandchildren. But he didn’t want to die alone.

Limerick for a fail tank

Once in a raid, there was a tank
and the big, bad monster she wanted to spank
but the tables were turned
and her fanny got burned
so she had to put her tail in a fish tank...

"Matty. That is just plain dumb."

"Well, I was going to finish it with something about a coin slot and piggy bank, but thought that was too crude, even for you."

"Dearest, try again. It has to make sense at least."

In a mean fiery dungeon she got burned
And every ounce of gold she thoroughly earned
She thought it'd be better
If she went someplace wetter
And for much bigger hammers she yearned...

"Stop. Just. Stop."

"If you insist, sir."

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Writing triage.

Mi amigo--
Knowing you are still out there makes me happy. What does that have to do with this post. Nothing, really, but it reminded me of some of the past posts. And, that your friendship is unique. Feel, in some ways, I'm marking time until you can stop by again. Just so you know, been getting hunter girl decked out in PvP gear. Should change her name to GI Jane.

Was thinking while cleaning up and clearing out real life, I should fix up this blog to look better, too. It's messy. If you all saw my home, work environment, and brain, you'd know I create a three-dimensional world of toys, papers, etc.; I try to keep things linear, but just can't contain this much awesomeness. To say I'm a visual person is an understatement: it's almost to debilitating levels.

I've been blogging for a long time. But that doesn't mean I've improved. And when I look at the side bar of popular posts, for the most part, they are ones that have been linked and carried by other, better writers than I. They are not necessarily my personal favorites. I really like the drabbles, the stories, and the confessions. I hope that when I expose some mistake, others may quietly nod to themselves and know I'm empathetic (noobery loves company?).

Anyway, these two posts came to mind tonight:

And I still really like this one:

May just put on that Bloodsail hat and kiss some pirates.

With my ax.

Yup. Funny.

I Like Bubbles guild culture post


I wonder if she is Hyperbole and a Half?......

(which has been one of my favorite blogs for quite some time...)

New kid.

I read on Twitter that I Like Bubbles is planning a post on guild culture. Knowing her acerbic style, (which we all love), it is certain to be really damn funny.

When you're honored with the Avengers, you get really good stuff, like bowler hats and umbrellas.
Last night, got to go along to Firelands again - because of summer, visitors, other real life plans, my addition is something new to the group, and we are having a challenge in finding healers who can match the skills of the guild's existing, long-time members. I mention this because group dynamics cause for static cling and shocks.

Needless to say, downing Shannox wasn't quite the walk in the fire-park as it was last time, but we did get him, and his little dogs, too, as well as a lot of trash, so my reputation with the Avengers is halfway to honored. There are some tasty purple things when you prove your worth to them. So, hopefully with my own schedule demands permitting, I can get back in there and take out some more trash until I get at least to honored. The spider boss is a really fun fight, too, when I don't fall through the holes or disoriented on the web.

Now, we have a new healer. (We seem to burn through a lot of healers: I blame myself. We all know I love to run into fire...I get chilly and forget to bring sweaters...)

And, I hesitate to write anything about a guildmate, honestly. I am old enough to know that first impressions are often not accurate, or if they are, they are usually one fraction of a person's complex character. For example, during an interview years ago, I was told that I was "flip and irreverent." Both of those traits may be true, but I thought I was being "charming and witty." Even yesterday got some feedback that I can be "overbearing." Also true. I talk too much, and can be a little high strung when there's a lot to do. One man's overbearing is another man's work ethic.

But the impressions were this: he seemed very casual about showing up on time, or at all; and afterwards whispered to me he was bummed he didn't get some shoulders or whatever, that another player was awarded. We all want the goodies, that's for sure. (Nothing dropped that a beautiful enhancement shaman such as myself would want or need, unfortunately; I am truly the original working girl, grinding through this game is my middle name.) The player who did get the shoulders is a long-time guild member who has more than proven her steadfast, calm, and skilled play. Not only did she deserve them, but if there had been more to offer her, she would have deserved any and all boons and rewards available. I do not know her that well -- she is quiet in Vent, but strikes me as a no-drama, strong, calm force in the group dynamic.

And I guess I've been hanging around my guild punks too long (they are adorable), because I didn't even get annoyed, bothered, or flustered by any of their teasing. I am teased for getting lost. For dying. For dying while lost. And I suppose they said some comments about my reputation in terms of what might get written on the bathroom wall sorts of things --didn't even notice. My very good friends know what rank titles they give to newcomers, and as I have said I needed it explained to me. My current title is hilarious, and I am very proud of it, even if I share it with ten other members, male and female. It's not that I'm prudish or that naive, but all of their teasing about my directional skills or sexual repuation is just that: teasing. It means nothing.

But new healer asked me about it, why did the guild call me X or say Y.

Not sure why.

Did he, never mind.

In any case, he and I ran a Zul afterwards, and he was very sweet and polite. Even thanked me for the run. We had a psycho tank who was calling us all noobs, even though the shadow priest was doing 20K on average, and my dps was the lowest between 9-17k. It was a sluggish night. He abandoned us in the middle of the Halazzi fight. It was kind of scary in a way, because I knew on the other end of that intertube was some creepy, raging jerk. We got a new, nicer tank, finished up, and all was well. If the prior tank hadn't abandoned us mid-swing, we may have been able to do the bear run. Instead, I watched in horror as the last prisoner was taken out of her cell and burned in front of me. Knowing this is the fate of this beautiful troll means I will try a little harder to rescue her on the next run.

So, what's my point? I don't know, really. Again, I just feel grateful for my friends in the game whom I trust,  made me laugh, dried my tears, and just been sweet as honey. You tolerate my irreverence and overbearing moods, and I am a lucky girl indeed. Now, here's some Comet and a sponge: go clean off those toilet stall walls.

Postscript: Big shout-out to my favorite literary term--it was great to see you, and always fun to have you around!

Drabble: Druid staff.

Mookimook felt only confusion. In the group, there was a barrier—she sensed it. She was out of step. She crumbled the leaves, the chlorophyllatic paste of healing. Out of balance. Perhaps it was the cloudy day in summer. A cheat. Another druid groused. And then said, and this was unexpected: he noticed she didn’t have the patience for complaining. How did he know that, though she didn’t say a word? Druids. Newly minted souls bound to ancient cells. Odd mix. The wood on the bedpost felt as smooth as the oils of a thousand hands. Time to sleep now.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Drabble: In time

Restless and shifting, showing only one brave face, Lupe watched the moon. She scratched an itch behind her left horn, tangling her thick, black hair. Twitchy muscles under leggings. The plate armor scratched against the tower stones, abrasive. She wanted to be in silk; all she had was metal and mesh. She wanted to throw light and warmth; she could only crunch and pound. The hardened tapestry of her path, and the needle’s line of stitches sewed her destiny in place. She longed to rip out the seam and be something else, if one night. Have him see another side.

Sunday, August 7, 2011


Well, guildmaster asked me to tag along to Firelands, and we got the Beth'tilac and Shannox. 

Two separate players called me their 'lucky charm' -- thought of this quote

"It's a funny thing -- the more I practice, the luckier I get." -- Arnold Palmer

Oh, did I mention the guild hadn't gotten them until tonight?

Theme song: Red Red Wine/UB40*

*May have had a little bit

Hardest. Game. Ever.

I am not a gamer, but know plenty of them. Was in a Gamestop the other day, and was strongly, STRONGLY cautioned against Demon's Souls. Every clerk in there, every young man under the age of 25, in their best Comic Book Guy voices, warned me that a purchase of this game, new, would be folly. I was encouraged to purchase it used, because I would come whimpering back, receipt in hand, to return it, crushed under its complicated machinations and the sheer confusion, reeking of defeat and humiliation.

This is not a game for sissies.

But it is beautiful.

And it's not being returned. (There is no Sword of a 1,000 Truths on a thumb drive.)

On occasion, I do wish sometimes Azeroth wasn't so cartoonish. I understand the weight of a nation-sized world of 12,000,000 is a lot of pixels to manage, but if I could play a character who was more three-dimensional, more cinematic, that would be sho kewl.

Another game I find sublime and breathtaking is Limbo. Witnessing the weak deaths of the main character is depressing and more than a little emo. It is tragically delicious, though.

So if the palette of Azeroth gets a little too bright, I suggest you turn down the lights and noise, and try one of these other games. If nothing else, the birds are angry enough, and Diablo III is still a few weeks away.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Unfinished limericks

There once was a priest who grabbed a girl
Using leap of faith, he gave her a whirl
But instead of a safe sin
He hooked an ugly goblin

"Guarf...I can't think of the last line...face so gross, he wanted to hurl?"

"Let me think on it, lass."

"All right - see if you can finish this one:"

There once was a rogue who loved to pick locks...
In a dungeon he found a fuzzy little box
He took out his key
and slipped it in easily

Guarf blushed.


Haiku for a priest...

leap of faith, heartbeat
pulls me from the inside out
wings, fire and light, fly

Friday, August 5, 2011

Auction block.

Fascinating human behavior:


Dearest Luperci--
Guarf has kept me apprised of your many successes of late -- that is so wonderful! He also told me you two ate the last of my s'morcs that I was saving for a friend, but no matter. The evening wasn't harmed by a lack of sticky chocolate. Missing snacks are a trifle: I have more disturbing concerns, and am hoping for your help. If you see my dear Night Elf priest friend, please tell him to come out of the shadows and let me know he's all right. I broke down in tears tonight while getting an enchant on my bracers, because it wasn't him or his druid brother doing the enchanting. I convinced my comrade I was crying over the price of maelstrom crystals and volatile air, but don't think he believed me.

Also, I may be sniffly because I went for a midnight run through Zul'Aman. I'm allergic to troll dander, I think. During an ill-fated dungeon expedition, a blackguard paladin made me so furious, I left abruptly and angrily, but determined to save face in the future. So, I set my horns on tight, and marched back through there, hexing sticks in pocket, ready to scout my way around. And although it is a very dangerous place, Zul'Aman, there is something about it that bewitches me. It was a beautiful night tonight. The air was warm and balmy, the stars kissed the field flowers, and it all smelled of lavender and Queen Anne's lace. So, B'oso (my baby bear--named for brown sugar and oatmeal) and I went through, stopping only when we saw that some trolls had been reborn to their posts. And although I had a pocketful of lucky charms,  I wasn't fortunate to get Mojo, the kissable frog, but did find an enchanted scroll for you to use in your dungeons (enclosed).

I did this not only for myself, Lupe, but for you--you are growing into a wonderful protector, and knowing your way around is so critical to making those in your party feel safe and secure. I wish all paladins felt as you do--caring, strong, and protective. Alas, they do not. They allow for immaturity and disrespect like fighting, spoiled children.

Well, I must go to sleep--I am stopping in the cathedral to light a prayer candle on my way to the Dwarven District. Or I may just go sleep in a tent somewhere - the flowers and weeds are sometimes more comfortable than those scratchy rugs...and the crickets will sing me to sleep. Drunken dwarfs, although charming, do not soothe like cricket song.

Not linear. Curvature. Quadratic. Skid Rows.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Roll-dem bones.

Hot streaks don't last. That's what makes them hot, I guess. Too many great runs in Zuls had to come to an end, and what an inglorious end indeed.

Druid healer
Ret pally
Prot pally
Some worgen thing (SP)

RP to all of us: BEAR RUN! (Says when he sees my first mob trash dps scores were 17-20k)
Says to DH that he is fail, because his DPS is low.
I say, um...Druid is the healer - ?
DH to RP: ur an idiot

Proceed.. issues...

But the RP has a lot to say. To everyone. So we miss out on bear run because he was busy typing in party chat about everyone else's failures.

At some point, I say, in my best party chat Robert DiNero; YOU TALKING TO ME?

But I typed it as:  "Talking to me?"

And no, it the Druid Healer was the target.

Tank and RP are guildies, btw.

(Oh, forgot to mention my lag on Akil'zon. Worst. Lag. Ever. Woke up smelling of ozone and bird poop.)

Tank does some weird sh*t with one of the mobs, and we wipe, but not without a valiant effort. RP says, "Wow."

Wow, yourself.

Healer has enough and bails. (For the record, tells us would rather go do a battleground than be with this group.)

For some reason, and it's pretty obvious to me now, activate POWER OF WISHFUL THINKING
and wanted the RP to be GONE. So I ask to call in a guildie, my illustrious and talented GM, who comes to save the day.

But we didn't need a dps.
We needed a healer.
My BIG mistake.

Embarrassment to the inth degree.

RP changes to Holy spec.
We move on.
We do fine.
Get to the Hex Lord Malacrass show-down. Am told to hex the demon. Can't hex demon, and I know this. Before I can tell tank this, and hex the blood elf chica standing there, which is what I do, he says "Waiting on you shammy."

You can take your tapping toe and shove it....


I am polite. Polite. Polite.

We end up wiping on that boss. I don't remember ever wiping on him. I had to self-heal because Malacrass kept standing in his own conscretation, and I have seen other tanks pull him out, but when I suggested this to Sir Tanksalot, was told about twenty different reasons why that can't happen.

Okay. Sure you're right.

And then RP, turned Holy, told me to dps faster.

Kind of tough when I am self-healing.

RP asks shadow priest if he can heal, because he believes his dps is so awesome he can save us. Funny how he didn't remember that most of our dps ran neck-in-neck most of the run.

Now I am feeling bad -- this is my fault. I could have gotten a healer, too. And been done with this.
But this wipe causes my gear to break down - and I leave, with telling them, of course.

Which I hate, hate, hate to do.

Because I get lost.

And the sh*t starts flying.

No mention of all of their mistakes.
No mention of their arrogance and errors.

I am lost.

GM tells me to hit "M" for map.


I know about "m."

I also know that "m" in Zul'Aman is, well, let's just say doesn't really help me. People who have run it and studied the vectors and pathways take a a lot of short-cuts, back alleys, and broken stair steps to get to where they need to be.

I am imaging in my head right now the RP is a red-headed neighborhood bully with pile of white dog stuff ready to go. 

I have found my way back before, but normally I don't have to because I haven't wiped on any boss in a Zul in awhile, and I don't need to find my way back. My breadcrumbs have long been eaten. I am so embarrassed at this point, that I...just...snap.

And I leave.

Now I know these smug pendejos have been fed more troll food. Shaman-shame is like mana from heaven for them.

Sometimes the dice are hot, and sometimes they're not. I'll roll again, and do fine, but perhaps making cheeseburgers and drinking a cold beer is the best course of action right now.

Postscript: Young elite druid tank informed me, indeed, Lord Malacrass cannot be pulled out of his own mess when he is casting shadow spirits: HOWEVER - and I took notes on Luperci's behalf--as a tank, one needs to know where everyone is at all times. If melee dps are in an uncomfortable, damaging area, get Malacrass turned around so that the fight can continue pain-free. Know where everyone is -- DPS, healer, etc. If the dice are going to be loaded, at least make sure they're your dice.

50* Ways to Love a Draenei

This is a very timely article for me:

I don't think the lack of lore is a bad thing - I am more than capable of filling in the plot holes:

Been thinking about draeneis. I don't know why I like them, just do. They can't dance like Night Elf girls, aren't as aloof and self-possessed as Blood Elves, aren't rocking the sexx-ayy like gnome chicas, and don't keep boys in line like dwarf women. And they can't match human girls for having feet. Real feet. Often they have a Hans Christian Andersen Little Mermaid mourning time for the lost pedicures and peppermint foot cream that will never be theirs: kind of silly to paint the "toe nail" of big hooves. If you go from hoof to horn, draenei females evolve from animal earthiness to etched beauty. But, they open their mouths and talk "funny."

So, when I'm not so sleepy, (and I am sweetly sleepy right now- all the Draenei girls are at a good stopping point: Matty, Lupe, and Zep are fine: Haanta has been tracking her lost friend, but other than that, holding up all right), my creative energies are going to tackle more Story Time entries before the summer's light vanishes, and extinguishes my free time.

*I say 50 because that's the alt limit. I cannot, will not, make 50 characters, and most certainly not all Draenei. I've created a few Horde and some alts that are not blue aliens.

Postscript: Perhaps draeneis will be buried under other lore, or maybe this will help: Mists of Panderia:

Wednesday, August 3, 2011


Augustus took all the blog-chocolate yesterday.

Ah, the double-edge sword of technology.

I can check blog traffic and data, which are fascinating to me. I enjoy seeing the key word searches that lead people to my blog, and that when I cross-pollinate with other bloggers I admire, feeling that they willingly and graciously share their readership with me. Hopefully I have found a few new fans, as I have in their writing.

For awhile now, I have noticed the good people of Malaysia don't seem interested in fan-fiction or topics of WoW. They want me to get an on-line degree, or improve my golf swing. Their traffic numbers will bump out others I do want to see, others who cheer me when I know they've come to my virtual doorstep. However, we've come to tolerate one another, albeit grudgingly.


Yesterday, Germany sent 65 post hits to this blog. I can't imagine they were really all that interested in what a rookie tank or high-maintenance shaman had to say.

Now, I have been to Germany, a few times in fact. It's been awhile, and I loved it, and would like to go back. Hamburg especially is a sooty, salty-sea, charming city. That was the city where a young German man took me and my colleague on tour, and when I asked about a bombed out church, looked at me, with an edge of hostility (or maybe that's just being German), and hissed it was "your American soldiers...." (Well, I wanted to say, it wouldn't be nothing if you didn't start nothing...or something like that, in a Will Smith voice...but...I didn't).

In any case, perhaps the German spam-krieg of my blog was just a fluke.

Robot Chicken: ...such a scamp...

Tuesday, August 2, 2011


Much of our lives, and perhaps this is only a first-world issue, is spent cleaning up clutter. I have been wrangling with stacks of papers from work, for home, for others, myself, my creative life, and virtual life. There are to-do lists, calendars, agendas, and, quite frankly--some very aggressive sticky notes.

It is not a good sign when I have a touch of insomnia because these volatile sticky notes are stuck in my head. I know the only cure for this is to roll up sleeves, and wade through, being ruthless in my judgement of each scrap's worth.

Was catching up with a mentor/friend yesterday, long overdue. She and I feel the same way about current professional issues, and both are having a "I don't wanna" response. But the summer's light still shines, and as far as I know Starbucks is open now.

So, three things:

1. Cougar Club:
My guild's raiding team has been trying to put out the fires in Firelands. I haven't been on those raids of late, and neither have a few other guild members. I had a productive chat with my guildmaster the other evening. For some reason, there has been an attraction of 30+ women to our guild. I sense virtual saucy wenches, but I and a comrade have dubbed them the Cougar Club. Am I a charter member? Eek. Never saw myself as that. In any case, the word on the street was that a few of us wanted to raid, but had been feeling intimidated, left out, etc. Wise guildmaster scheduled a Tier11 raid, so we could get our hooves wet. I imagine the Saturday Night Live skit, Cougar Den.

2. Sparked:
Came across this blog:
What sparked me to talk to the guildmaster was a comrade relaying that although they did pretty well during one Firelands' raid, but not great (I am paraphrasing), at least his rep went up. I think I said something to the effect, "That's twisted all sideways and defying gravity in a sexy way." I am all about access to fun, rep, loot, etc. So we shall see.

3. Vanish:
I may just say "twist it all sideways and defy gravity in a sexy way," and do something completely different. Move realms. Leave no forwarding address. And light a match to this pile of work.

In the meantime: Luperci/tanking is a blast. She tipped the scales for her reputation with the good Guardians of Mt. Hyjal, and was awarded with this very ugly belt:
Luperci keeps her lip gloss in this fanny pack.

Off to Starbucks. And find a pack of matches.

Monday, August 1, 2011

The Order of the Silver Hand, or, It Scares Me How Much I Don't Know.



Wake up.

Time for school.

Put on your Scarlet Monastery tabard, you undeserving paladin, and do your homework:

Once again, wiser players than I point me in the right direction. Time to read:

And see if you can get your hands on one of these:


When I was a little girl, I vacillated between wanting to be an actress, artist, singer, historian (Little House on the Prarie books and the Chicago Museum of Natural History did that), dancer, psychologist, ballerina, and, (There's always a black sheep, isn't there?) The passions I did pursue were art and writing. Those two seemed to cover all my bases, except for law. (Don't argue with me.) In fact, this was back before special programs, and I wrote a story in second grade that got the attention of a teacher, and was given special class privileges. (These privileges involved me and a few other smarty-pants sitting around the library reading or writing our own works, while the other peons drudge through, gee, multiplication tables? No wonder why I almost failed high school chemistry.)

Now that I'm a grown-up, I still love to write, can't sing worth a damn (threatening to sing the entire soundtrack of 'Nightmare Before Christmas' on Vent doesn't count- that's sadistic), and my supposed brilliant dance career was cut tragically short by a high fever on dance class day, and my mother never had the time to take me again.

So, I think it's understandable that I love to play World of Warcraft.

One thing I can't do, however, is dress-up in real life. That time has passed for me. There are just some things that are best left to those under age 28. This does not mean, though, that I think those who indulge in cosplay are weird, strange, dorky, etc. In fact, I have admiration, envy, and perhaps even a sculptural inclination to see if I could engineer something. I just don't think I could pull it off, hence the envy.

From time to time, I will post some articles and links about cosplay: My Other Me: A Documentary on Cosplay.

I have posted this image before, and have since considered why I think it's so amazing:
Diablo Wiki

This image reminded me one of my favorite artists, Arthur Rackham. When I saw his work, I was truly, unabashedly enchanted, and have remained so, my whole life. His rich tones, shading, and the dark quality of his work embeds the painful themes that fairy tales are not nice. They are dark, stories of blood, fear, betrayal, morality, luck, pluck and sinister deeds. They are the cautionary tales parents told their children so they would not talk to strangers, (causing xenophobia, but oh well, at least the wolf won't eat you), and that adults, quite often, are not to be trusted, including one's own parents. Stepmothers in particular play a terrible archetype of "false, envious" mothering. And fairies, and other creatures without souls, may be beautiful, but cannot love you. Just like your date last night.


So even though I am well past the little girl who loved to play dress up, whose mother kept her hair in a pixie cut, and used towels for my 'long hair" while playing bride, and painted nail polish on my face to be a clown (my mother said my friend and I couldn't use lipstick -- she didn't say anything about nail polish), you will believe me when I say, I still wish I could, and applaud others who can, and do.