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Let me introduce you to my Bimbo :)

Before I make my ridiculous post and such I feel the need to say it's 3:34 AM, it's freezing in this basement, I cannot sleep and have had a migraine for like, four six hours. The migraine has subsided, so I feel all thinky like, but I'm bored so I'm playing stupid games. I ran out of things to do on said stupid games, so I went and played with google and now I feel like getting on my soap box and babbling. Sorry guys, it's what I do. :)

The game in question is called MissBimbo (an english version of a french game that was known as MaBimbo). Cara is familiar with it, though I'm sure few else are that would be reading this. You can find the game at MissBimbo.com, of course, but instead of making you look at it (since I know Merf is probably the only person who's going to read this :( ) I'll just briefly describe it.
      This is an online game, what the creators have dubbed a sneg, which stands for a 'social networking game', that targets just about any female under 21. When you sign up you are given a virtual doll, you bimbo, that you are to take care of. She gets hungry and thirsty, she gets sad and sick, and she gets fat if you overfeed her. When you first sign in, the game gives you a few helpful tips. One of these is that your ideal weight is 127 lbs, and your happiness level revolves around how close you are to that weight. Weigh too little and you get sad, weigh too much and you get sad and your bimbo gets chubby with puffy cheeks. If you don't feed her at all, she will eventually die. That's the basics, a little appalling at first maybe, considering the name of the site and the fact she gets sad if she weighs a little too much. Also, the game is based on a system of points known as BimboAttitude which you can earn from having a boyfriend, an apartment, and playing games. You need BimboAttitude to win walk offs, but we'll get into that later.
      Now, I have to say I found this site via an ad on a forum I frequent, that is dominated largely by 13-17 year olds. It's almost awkward when you run into someone who is over 22, sadly. Now, the ad attracted my attention first because the name made me fall off my chair laughing until I cried, and then because it said "Tired of Barbie? Play MissBimbo!". I don't know what world the creators live in (who say it isn't targeted at anyone under 19) but Barbie is a toy reserved for girls under 14, most often girls between 6 and 9. So, I joined for the lulz, and because I'm increasingly interested in the things my little cousin Sarah, who is 9 (right Cara? D=) and far too internet savvy. I'll admit freely now that I play regularly, because I'm a whore for dress up dolls...I don't know why. :( So, now, my dear friends (Merf), I give my views and critiques of the site.
      First, the bad things that really do shock and appall me. As I said, the game begins telling you to keep your bimbo around 127 lbs or she'll get sad. I, as a girl who weighs a little more than 127 lbs (lolz), find this offensive. I'm no less happy than my sister, who is closer to 127 lbs than I will ever likely be. Okay, that's a lie, but aside from the depression and other issues I have, I'm no less happy than her, and very little of it has anything to do with my weight. The next offensive bit comes when you read through the FAQ and are told that you will have to *gasp* work to get money (yes, it says *gasp*) OR get a boyfriend who will give you money. Now, I'm not an expert but I would say it takes a very shallow girl, and boy, for a relationship like that, and it's hardly the message I want to be sending a girl about what a boyfriend is for. With that said, someone please point me in the direction of someone who will give me 100 bucks a day just for calling him my boyfriend, because I would TOTALLY pretend to be straight for that.
     Moving on. Once you get into the game, get a boyfriend and a job and an apartment and begin collecting your BimboAttitude and BimboBucks, you are introduced into the goals and level part of the game. As with almost any other game like this, you are given goals you must accomplish to go to the next level. The first level is simple goals intended to get you going on the game which include getting a job, an apartment, and a boyfriend. The first three levels as simple like that, and the third level introduces you to 'challenges'. This is the walk off aspect of the game. You get to challenge (and be challenged by) other bimbos, and you have a walk off. The winner is determined by a factor of things, including the number of BimboAttitude, the happiness level, how close she is to 127lbs, if she is hungry or thirsty, and what she's wearing. The more expensive the clothes, the better it is in a challenge.
      Now, the first seven or so levels are simple like that, with the most offensive goal at the time being to dump your has-been boyfriend. In the next level you'll get a new one, but first you have to take care of the fact your bimbo binged and put on 15 lbs because she dumped her boyfriend (who she didn't even like, according to the goal description) and see a therapist because she's horribly depressed now. Being out 50 bucks a day can get pretty depressing I guess. Because you binged you're instructed to eat less and go to the gym about five times in a row to get back to your perfect little weight. Then comes the level seven goals, which include putting on a bunch of weight because someone asked you to be a plus sized model, and being 127 lbs just does not do it for the modeling industry, and getting a face lift. Did I say face lift? Why yes, yes I did. In fact, you can get a boob job as well. In fact, one of your later goals is to GET a boob job. Now, I don't know about you, but having to get a boob job to level is a little extreme of a message, especially to anyone under 15 who won't totally get that it's just a stupid goal in a stupid game.
      I do believe that's most of the offensive bits, so on to the good parts of the site, in my humble opinion. The fact the bimbo will get sad if she weighs too little is a good thing, and as Cara pointed out, 127 lbs isn't like telling them to weigh 100 lbs which is way unhealthy. I also enjoy the fact that you have an IQ level, which sadly starts at about 70, that  you get to, and have to for goals, increase. To get a better job and level up you need higher IQ, which you can attain by going to the library or playing games they have on the site. Any game that promotes visiting a library is smiled on at least a little by me. I also do like the games a bit, though they are horribly simple and don't take much thinking, which is likely because children won't be able to play otherwise.
    Another thing that I like, which is just a personal like and has nothing to do with the message it sends (which will be different in everyones book) is the fact they have a tattoo parlor. You can get tattoos and piercings for your bimbo, and thankfully the piercings are basic facial ones, no crazy bimbo type piercings in places I don't want children knowing you can be pierced. True, this could send a bad message in some peoples opinion, but I think it's a good thing considering the world we live in and the fashion of the current times. Besides, getting a tattoo or a piercing is never a goal, and you get very few BimboAttitude for them, so it really is just a personal preference on your bimbo.
    As far as how the site is run and set up, it's horribly amateur and needs work. There is a forum, but it is set up poorly and very confusing. The mods are not clearly indicated or reachable. I would give examples, but having two accounts, I was banned from the forum. I have two, one to play with and the other to check out the site further for further opinion making, and I honestly, despite my extreme internet and forum savvy, didn't know it was against the rules to have two accounts. So, I posted about how I have two (to prove something about an item that was free to everyone and made it impossible to win challenges with normal clothes) and was shortly there after banned from the forum. I will say that the mod that contacted me first was very nice, informing me it was cheating and asking which account I wanted to retain. I said the one I play with, it had far more going for it, and she said the other would be destroyed. It has yet to be destroyed. Go me and my breaking rules skills, amirite? Since I had no idea it was illegal to have more than one account, as I inspected every shred of FAQ, rules, TOS, etc before I joined (as is my normal method) I never saw the rule. Why? Because the creators decided it was okay to put the main rule in only one place...the forum. This is just poor thinking because only a third of the members visit the forum, and I was not a part of that third. My first post in the forum was the one saying I had two accounts.
    Also, a lacking safety feature (that I'm surprised the site hasn't been disabled for lacking) is an age check when you sign up. In fact, saying you're 9 in your profile, and telling everyone that, doesn't even warrant a second glance from the admins of the site. This is shocking, since almost any site that is seen as possibly inappropriate for small children doesn't let anyone under 13 play. In fact, there has been laws passed banning most sites from allowing children under 13 from playing on them, because it's a safety risk as the kid is seen as more or less a sitting duck online.
      Now, it is good to say that MissBimbo and its creators have been attacked viciously by the media all over the world, from France to Britain to America. I will give them one thing, that after being attacked for having diet pills, they pulled that aspect of the game. For their part, they claim it is satire and irony, as they claim is obvious from the title of the game. However, they make a very stupid mistake in saying that children as young as 6 and 7 will understand this. They will not be harmed at all from this game and are totally able to understand that plastic surgery is a serious issue and a personal choice that should be contemplated for a long time before undergone. Anyone that knows children knows how false that idea is. I'm one that believes kids are far smarter than most people think, and that you shouldn't short change them or automatically assume they don't understand, but at 7, being told in order to be popular and get money you need a boob job, you're gonna assume it's realistic. Especially in the society we live in. I mean come on. This view of the creators is not surprising when you realize the main creator is a 23 year old male who has never had kids or had very much contact with kids.

So, what is my verdict on the site? Do I agree with people saying it should be shut down, or not allowed for anyone under 17 to play? Or do I see it as harmless fun? The honest truth, now that I have read much and played with it and thought about it in my post-migraine hour is that no, I don't think children should be banned from it. But no, I don't think it is harmless fun that a child will automatically understand like an adult would. Instead, I have realized I view the site just as I once stated in English class that I view violent games. It isn't a bad game that should be banned and children should be protected from. Instead, it is a game that children should be introduced to, and allowed to play, with the supervision of their parents.
    After much thinking I realized that there would be nothing more educational when it comes to these offensive and damaging ideas of this site, nothing safer and better for a little girl, than for their parent(s) to sit down with them and play the game with them, and explain why certain things are 'just a game' and not realistic. What better way to break the ice about how a little girl is beginning to view her body, with all the photo shopped and airbrushed skeletons on magazines these days, than playing a game that encourages it, and then discussing the topic with the kid? What better way to start that conversation about what they know, think, have been told, or don't understand? No, I don't think this site should be banned, but not taken lightly.


With all that said, MissBimbo should totally fucking hire me to deal with their stupid shit like idiocy towards the media and bad site construction. Shit, that could be a major selling point of the game. "MissBimbo, helping parents talk to their daughters about body image." Amirite?


Also, with THAT said, they're totally going to do that in the future. My ideas are always stolen. :(

Whatever you do...don't sniffle...

The hardest part about crying anymore is that Cara's always in the same room. I don't want her to go away, but it's just so hard to cry without her knowing.  I hate letting people know I'm crying...it's pathetic and weak and only serves to worry people. They think something is wrong, and when something is, they think they can fix it. Nothing can fix this. I'm so tired of trying to convince myself that something can. I'm so tired of trying to think that there's a point to this carousel. But there isn't. It's pretty, and the chips have been painted over, but it still goes round and round and round, and no matter how much paint you use, you can't cover up that wild sick look in the horses eyes.

You know what I wish? I wish I was music...just music...screw everything else. Music is where it is man...It's the sound of life, of love, of hate and fear and anger and death...what more could anyone or anything want? It's perfect, even the music that is horrible, and it makes no amends and no apologies...Unlike me, who is far from perfect, and lives to apologize and fail to make amends.

I fell down the stairs this morning. My foot slipped and I slid down. Instinctively I protected my head. As soon as my foot was off the stair and I was falling back, my head tucked up into my chest to keep from bashing into the stairs. My right elbow bashed into the wall, which is delightfully made of cement, so now that's all bruised and cut and achy. But because of that I bounced sideways a bit, and my  head headed directly for the pole at the base of the stairs, that holds the ceiling up. Again, instinctively I protected my head, and turned my head and  body just right to bash the side of my head into the pole instead of my face. Other than my elbow, I'm completely unharmed, because my instincts know how to make me live...I wish my instincts sucked...I wish my head had bashed back against a stair or two...I wish my face had bashed into that pole, my nose destroyed, my cheekbone maybe broken, my teeth loose or gone...I wish my instincts sucked...

Cara's going to read this and hate me, again. Oh well...She can hate me if she wants, I already do.

SSDD

Well thank you LJ for jumping off to another page and erasing my whole post. Now I'll just remake it, short and sweet.

It's happening again. The days are becoming tedious, mundane, boring. It's all the same, over and over again. You wake up in the morning, you do stuff, you go to bed, you wake up, you do the same things as the day before, you go to sleep, wake up, do same things, sleep, and so on and so forth. That's all life is. The same thing, over and over and over again. Even if you love what  you're doing, you're still stuck in that endless loop, that chain of stupidity and tedium.
          When I was  younger, the only thing I really dreaded was to grow up to be chained down. I didn't want to be chained to anything, not a job, not a home, not a family. I wanted to be free, completely free. I wanted to be unchainable, free to go where I wanted, when I wanted, do what I wanted. How disappointed I was when I got older and realized there was no such thing as freedom, because no matter what you do, you're chained in this stupid life of wake up, do shit, go to bed.
          Not too long ago, had you asked me what I wanted to be when I 'grew up', I would have answered honestly, that I wanted to grow up to be a martyr. I wanted to care about something so much as to give my life freely for it, to value it higher than anything else. I wanted to make a difference, a wave. But nothing I can do will ever change anything. Even if I wrote a book that changed things, started a wave in this world, the words will still fade and turn to dust just like everything else in this world does. We're all damned twelve ways till Sunday, any way you look at it, and no book, no matter who wrote it or what it was about, can save us. The greatest martyr's couldn't save us, couldn't really change us, so how could I do anything worth while?
          The answer is simple: I can't. And I hate that. I hate being chained to this time, to this world. I hate knowing I'll never be free. I can try to pretend death would free me, but even then it wouldn't, because if my beliefs are right then I'm chained to the judgment God or the universe or whatever puts on me. I'll be filed away somewhere, between evil and good, and then left to rot in existence.
          Nothing matters. Nothing. Not this post, not my stories, not my life...none. Nothing is more tireing, than that knowledge. To wake up knowing that in the end, you're just going back to bed to wake up again. None of it is substantial...none of it matters...



This was a better post before LJ ate it. Now it's just pathetic and whiney and sad. Hate for all the stupid links that jump away from my post and kill it. Hate, hate, hate.

There's a Siren song that is my madness

I gotta tell you, sometimes I really wish I was an addict. I really wish I did drugs, or drank myself into a stupor every day. Not just because I'm self destructive, or because it'd give me something to do and focus on, but because it would explain how I feel most of the time. There's been times when I could swear I'm going through withdrawal, but there's nothing to withdraw from. All there is, is my body and mind trying it's best to tear itself apart. It's gotten so bad in the past year that I don't even have the response of "I don't want to die" when I get suicidal. It's easier to pretend the hate and the rage and the tearing feeling just isn't there, than to fight it. Who knows...

          So, over a year ago I got it into my head to write a journal, a confessional of sorts. I gave it to Therapist. I still don't know if that was a good idea or a bad idea. She sent a copy to my family doctor, and on to Cracknob ("psychiatrist"), which got me plenty more drugs and some very interesting, albeit completely FALSE, diagnosis'. Cracknob doesn't believe I'm a danger to myself or to others. I've promised myself, as well as others, that if and when I finally crack, if there's any semblance of thought left, he's the first to get my wrath. Not just because he's a fool, but because I'm pretty sure a large part of me hates him. He's a horrible psychiatrist, untrustworthy, and full of himself. He deserves to be on his knees.
          ...Where was I? Oh yes, the confessional, or maybe you could call it a manifesto? I haven't read it since...well exactly one year and two days ago...Hm, weird.

          Looking back over what I have written in that journal, I've realized two things. One, I'm not that person anymore, even when the problems and the feelings are the same, I'm not that person...and I think I miss them. Two, there's no way I could ever write that freely here on LJ...As much as I would like to, so I could maybe throw my secrets on the mercy of everyone I know, I can't, because then someone that isn't me would really see me. I can't write that freely again...How utterly disapointing...

Migraines, topless dreams, and monsters

This will be a short entry because I have a migraine and LJ is just way too much white for my eyes right now. I slept all day, pretty nicely actually considering I had a migraine. I'm up now to make this entry, eat something, and then it's back to zoning.
           I had a really weird and vivid dream (haha, my turn Cara). I'll sum it up: horrible slug like creatures that bore into your skin and eat you from the inside out, unable to touch the ground because the slugs will get into you and then you're dead man, so horribly dead in a horrible dead way. Then there was something about the world was going down the tubes or something, and I was supposed to read to children on TV but then I was topless and walking down the street with Cara to go to my moms house which was one of our older houses. O.o
          Yeah, that's about the whole dream summed up into two sentences. The slugs scared the crap out of me, but I hurt too much to think or type more. I'll make a real entry tomorrow.

Mm, forced entries and migraines

It's December 2nd (+a couple hours), and I'm going to force out some sort of journal entry since I made the choice to write every day in at least some form.
          Today was uneventful. Being Tuesday I was supposed to go to Therapy but Therapist was out sick. The front office was wonderful though (cough) and called me at about 8 am, when I was just starting to really pass out after a night of tedious thoughts and unattainable sleep. I didn't recognize the number though, so I let it go to voice mail so it could leave me a message, and of course it was the office where Therapist works. Even better, they don't leave a voicemail but send me a text message saying to please call. So I get up, I drag myself up the stairs to find the number to make sure it's someone I know, and I call the office back. No one picks up. I wait five minutes and call back again, and again no pick up, so I left a message on Therapists machine since I didn't know why I was being called. Then I went back to sleep, and no one calls back. So at 10:30 I force myself to get up and go to the office, where the secretary, who I've never seen before (that explains a thing or two) tells me they tried to call us all but didn't get through to a lot of us but Therapist was out sick today. That's two weeks I haven't seen her, and I don't know if that's good or bad.
          I hate going in to see her anymore. I'm beginning to dread it the way I used to dread school when I was certain it was driving me to suicide. It's worrisome, really, since not long ago, maybe a couple months ago, I was happy to go see her. Or in the least I was simply put out that I had to get up when I was tired. But I certainly wasn't really upset or dreading it. The last time I actually saw her, I literally sat in the waiting room nervous as hell, and jumpy. It was like being five and waiting for the doctor to come back in the room with the needle to give you a shot. My stomach was in a knot and all I wanted was to jump up and run away...
          Honestly, I don't know if she's really helping me anymore, or if she ever really did. I'm so tired of going, because it doesn't change anything. The moment I walk in those doors I put on a mask, and I become a happy little girl who maybe is a little tired because she didn't sleep well. But it's all a big lie. Everything I say, even when it's the truth, is a lie when it comes out of my mouth. I'm supposed to see her every week on Tuesday, and talk to her about how the week has been going, and how I've been doing, but I never tell her the real truth, that I spent Wed. and Thurs. full of hate and rage, Fri. and Sat. crying uncontrollably, Sun. completely suicidal, and Mon. numb. By Tuesday everything inside is fine again. It's as if something in me knows how to preserve the madness...if I don't feel insane when I talk to her, I don't tell her, because I have been taught that that is complaining..and I have nothing to complain about.
          Bah, I'm tired of writing, and my head is beginning to hurt again from lack of sleep, too loud of a TV, and staring at the computer and reading for a few hours now. So, I'm going to log now, and go about the rest of the night. Tomorrow, I'll try to write before the day is actually over. :) Cheers.

Taking That First Step

    My name is Rassiekins, or Nicole if you know me in real life. I am a child of 23 years old. I suffer, horribly, from the disease called Life. I have spent the last seven or so years in and out of depression. My childhood was normal and plain. My father died when I was three months from turning thirteen. My faith in God was shaken, and for a few years I succeeded in turning my back on religion. Between 13 and 16 I was a pretty normal happy kid, I suppose. The year I turned 16 though, everything went downhill. I became delusional, violent, and started skipping school. I dropped out for the first time before I was even 16, it was the vice principals idea. I went back, but nothing improved, so come 18 years old I drop out again. It was a life or death situation at the time, because if I had remained in school I would have killed myself.
    I went back to school a year later, attending an alternative school. I graduated when I was 20, and immediately headed off to Chicago to attend The French Pastry School. It was a great time, and for those six months I felt alive. I graduated, and then everything went down again. I forced my younger sister to move to Chicago with me, where we shared a room in a condo my older sister owned. Even with another roommate, the price was crazy. Were it not my older sisters condo we would have split. I had a hectic job, as any bakery job would be, and I worked there for a few months. Then they 'let me go'. I was then jobless, in a condo I couldn't afford, with a little sister who didn't even want to be there.
    Shortly after that I crashed. I crashed harder than I ever have before, and as a last attempt at not killing myself, I shot an email off to my older sister who was in New York at the time. She called me, she called my mom, she bought me a ticket and at six am the next day I was on a plane headed back to Omaha. All I could think as my aunt drove me home from the airport was "This is what failure looks like. This is what it feels like. That's what it smells like, and this is what failure tastes like." My sister packed up and moved back a few months later, and for a few long months it was me, my mom, and my little sister sharing one small room in my grandmothers house. It wasn't great, but looking back I think I felt safer there.
    It's been over a year since I came back to Omaha, and after anti-depressants and therapy and several pathetic attempts to OD on Tylenol PM and Ambien, here I sit in front of a computer typing in a Live Journal.

    I have spent the last month making friends, losing others, being happy and being close to suicide. It is now December first, and I am moving forward in life whether it likes it or not. So here is my Live Journal..My 'I've Decided To Live' Journal. Stick around and you'll likely hear the best and the worst about me and my life. You will judge me, and that's fine, because I've finally decided not to judge myself. I am going to try to write once every day, and hopefully by January 1st, I will be ready to tell the world I'm getting better.