Once again you find me full of a stinking cold, my sartorial darlings. The resident Typhoid Mary at work has infected three of us with her offspring’s latest brought-home-from-school offering, so these words are being typed through a haze of hot lemon de-crapifying drink, a throat that feels like it’s swallowed a cactus sideways, and full-on snot-n-sneezes. (Hey, enjoying your breakfast over there? *g*)
Today’s Monday Meme is asking about photobombing, and while I really don’t have the oomph remaing in my poor, infection-ravaged body (oh, shut up, it’s man flu, dammit) to go out and inflict my avatar on someone else, I have been photobombed myself on occasion. I don’t often shoot on location, but when I do there is invariably some poor soul, usually devoid of important things (like, say, a great deal of their clothing… or most of their brain cells) who flies above me or walks right up to me, and then asks, “What are you doing?”
Being English (and brought up proper-like) I usually reply politely that I’m taking pictures for a blog and ask them if they would mind moving out of shot for me. Most of them do, but there are always the persistent ones who linger.
“Why are you taking pictures?”
“What’s your blog about?”
“Can you lend me L$200?”
Then, there are the ones who want to be in the photo so they can be on a blog. Seriously? I’m dressed up in some tragic copper robot steampunk outfit, shooting a dark storyline at Innsmouth (or what-have-you). What makes you think I want Miss Booby Blingtastic 2008 sticking her pixel knockers up my nose on the blog?
In fact, I could have photobombed someone myself last night inworld. I’d been at Exile, picking up some new hair, and when I teleported back home my Mysti immediately alerted me to the fact that someone was in the house. Resigned to yet another round of, “Excuse me, private property, kindly leave now,” (because I never eject-on-sight, especially if it’s a newb; I figure a quick tutorial about why it’s impolite to just barge into a clearly owned-by-someone-else home and start using their furniture will never go amiss), I cammed around and realised there was a female avatar sitting in my favourite armchair in front of the fire… completely stark-naked and taking photos of herself (I knew she was taking pics, because her avatar kept smiling).
I swear, our poor beagle in front of the fire was traumatised. DO NOT walk into someone’s house, strip off and start snapping your naughty pics on their furniture, miss!
So yeah, I should have stood behind her and ruined her photoshoot, but to be honest? There’s no fucking way I want pictures of Skell with some naked pixel floozie floating around the interwebs.
As for polite English gentleman? Yeah, she was booted on sight. Naked be-damned. OUT OF OUR HOUSE with yer tits, dammit.
Anyhow, completely unrelated to the subject matter, have a shot of Skell’s Rockstar persona on a fabulous new chair by 22769 [ Bauwerk ] at World Goth Fair. Including a ton of great poses, it’s available in both plain and gold brocade versions at the event, together with a huge load of other fabulously-dark and gothy items, which benefit the Sophie Lancaster Foundation – a very worthwhile cause that’s dear to my heart. For more info, check out the World Goth Fair blog.
And, with that, it’s time to take my sorry, snotty, sneezing arse off to work. AAA- AAAAA- AAAAAAAAAAA- CHOOO!