Written 31 Octoboo, 2007
Shortly after I moved to Pele I bought a No Drama sign for the then-unnamed Dragon Skybar.
There’s been some drama on the Forsaken sim (not ALL of which is under my benevolent control), but little on Pele itself—and most of THAT was caused by the philandering person I call here Avatar Piccard (so his wife won’t be wise to what he’s up to). Piccard brought, by my count, at least six women to Pele for late-night romance.
Sweetie told me it bothered her, so I asked him to stop—and he did for a time. When he broke up with one of his short-term girlfriends, he cranked up his late-night assembly line again, and for a second time I asked him to woo his women on someone else’s property.
That’s when he unfriended me and probably muted me.
I could have given two shits; I was just glad to be rid of the nuisance. I liked Avatar Piccard, but drama surrounded and followed him. Life was easier without him.
Bill and Pam Havercamp are good friends from real life, and they staked me in Second Life, giving me lindens, taking me shopping to jazz up my avatar, and giving me a place to stay in their home. I love them. I play music sometimes with them in real life, and I like to attend their concerts and listen to their banter and strum along on my guitar.
Back when Avatar Piccard spent hours and hours in the tiki hut at East Beach at Pele, playing trivia, Sweetie and I took him to a Bill and Pam concert to broaden his world. And it did. Not as much as we had hoped, for he seems struck now, as he did then, in a rut, doing the same thing over and over. And his over and over thing for months and months has been Havercamp concerts.
I’m not so childish as to avoid going somewhere because someone who dislikes me will probably be there, but I lately realized that perhaps one reason I’m not going to concerts as often as before is that I just don’t want to have to see Avatar Piccard.
Last night Sweetie was off world, happily tweaking photos of The Far Away and unhappily studying for a test for an evening class. I was sorting inventory and tweaking photos myself, and decided I could do it just as easily at a concert as standing on the sand at Pele. So I teleported to Bill and Pam’s concert on the Barcelona sim and put on my dance HUD and happily listened and rearranged my inventory until the concert ended. Then I walked outside to take a look at the shops.
As I was leaving, I got an IM from someone named Cyndee Platypus: “Bye, and thank you.”
I crossed the square and used my amazing camera control to scan the dance floor to see who had spoken to me. I found her. She was dancing with Avatar Piccard.
I was sure I knew what the “thank you” was for, but on the off chance that it was her venue and she was thanking me for coming, I finished my look about, flew to Pele, and replied, “Bye. Thank you for what?”
Chey’s second sense was spot-on as usual. She IMed, “Thank you for banning Avatar Piccard.”
I said, “I didn’t ban him. Guy was a serial goer-throgher of women. He unfriended me and probably muted me after I asked him not to bring his many women to Pele.”
She replied, more or less, that that was nonsense. Avatar Piccard didn’t have a lot of girlfriends and besides, I was the one who was jealous.
I said, “I have the chat log,” but of course she wasn’t interested in seeing it. She said goodbye, meaning she had had her say and I could fuck off.
I thought for a minute and said this to her: “You are talking about something that happened when you weren't around and about which you know nothing. And it's totally bitchy to IM me to gloat. So fuck you and you are muted.” Then I muted her, and, for good measure, Avatar Piccard, and banned them both from Pele.
And now, bigod, I’m blogging about last night. And although he has told me it would make his life difficult if I did, I came THIS close to using Avatar Piccard’s real Second Life name in this blog. If he can live it, he can read about it.
They can both kiss my ass—he for being the proximate cause of unneeded drama long after he was off my sim and out of my life, and she for being an immature, petty bitch.