15 April 2012

moar observations and thoughts on LFG...

and that its all booty wash and fail without hope.

sort of.

WARNING:  THIS IS A LONG WINDED AND ANGRY RANT.

Probably you've already seen most of it before, also. LOL

Now, I'm an optimist by nature and so I spend much of my time exclaiming over the shiny lovely and awesome stuff in the world and try not to pay too much attention to the stuff that's less fun or less lovely. I do this with everything in my life, games are no exception to this tendency.

And I spend a lot of time bitching about the quality of players, the quantity of idiot players and the sheer futility of what I spend so much time actively enjoying in spite of the rest of it all.

This is because these people are below contempt. They are sub-human refugees from a world that is rapidly taking over every aspect of my world... games included.

They co-habitate with us by some horrible twist of fate that has allowed them to spawn in greater numbers than we could annihilate upon recognition and soon will rule the world. There are few years left for the rest of us and I intend to leap off head first into the wild blue someday not because I optimistically believed I could fly if I forgot that I could fall, like Arthur Dent... and instead because the alien horde of needy greedy grabby whiney shits have finally found me and are set on taking everything I have and am rather than finding and making something of their own.

I mean this seriously. I'm being funny and at the same time remember... I'm an optimist. I like to make fun of even scary stuff because then I can continue to seem blindly unaware when I am instead just looking on the bright side and pretending the shadows don't worry me, even in the safety of the light where I naturally stand.

The nasty little monsters we've bred and called our children are ripe with self-loathing as cretins who have never made or developed anything and have instead always been given recognition for greatness that they know has never been theirs.

They go to birthday parties and are given gifts JUST FOR BEING THE FRIEND of the birthday boy/girl. Field Day is about showing up and not trying very hard, complaining about being too hot or too thirsty or too hungry and being given ribbons of participation and food and drinks and told how terrific they are whether they were even coordinated enough to change from their flip flops to their socks and tennis shoes with velcro laces without help. They have been bubble wrapped to prevent injury as though they are too valuable ever to take damage, spoken to only in the most politically correct syrupy ways and are still angry with anyone who might tell them anything that does not agree with their expectation that everything they do is perfect and awesome and pretty and special, just like they are.

They were passed throughs school by a nation of believers in No Child Left Behind that remain myopically unaware that our nation of do-gooder hippy dippy leaders has created a nation without science or math or intelligent thought and ability with only an expectation that the world owes these young monsters everything. Text speek and L33t speek that have replaced language on websites, game sites, blogs and exists even in our dictionaries. (misspelling there intentional.)

Guess what, folks?

I'm an optimist. Polly Anna eat your fucking heart out, honey... I'm happy when I wake up because it's raining/snowing/gray and cloudy and cool/warm/sunny/already hot and shiny outside. I go to work and am happy. I love Monday for being fresh and new. I love Tuesday for being awesome and still at the start of my week. Wednesday is half way there. Thursday is Friday Eve all day! Friday is Fri-hi-hi-hi-hi-day with a bootie dance because no one can take that away.

I was not bubble wrapped. I did not have a cell phone, pager or other device to keep me in touch with my parents, what I had was a responsibility to behave the way they expected and touch in with them through the day. Mom didn't do MY laundry. Mom didn't clean MY room. When I did something wrong I was as likely as not going to be punished, and it might include being HIT for it. True that... trust me. I was GROUNDED. Things I loved were taken from me. Words were sometimes harsh.

I ran my ASS OFF in the three-legged race and STILL didn't win a ribbon because we came in fourth and there were only awards for first through third. I jumped from swings and stuck the landings after scraping my knees and landing badly a few times. I rolled BACKWARDS out of swings and stuck the landings after waiting for the swing to pass by me again because I'd stuck the landing too soon last time and got whacked up the backside of my head for it. I failed pre-algebra not once or twice but three times... and it was REQUIRED that I attend SUMMER SCHOOL to learn it one of those times, and I STILL failed it. (note the use of the ownership word there? I failed it... not MY MOM DIDN'T HELP ME or THE TEACHER WAS A FAIL... no... I WAS A FAIL.) No one moved me along with my low D barely an F grade, they FLUNKED ME... I had to struggle through it for 3 hours a day the last time I took it because it was required for me to get through school and as an otherwise straight A student no one gave me a tutor or put me in remedial classes... I had to GET IT and finally I did.

I had bad breakups with my boyfriends and wasn't treated to days off school for it, I was tortured and was teased and treated as poorly as anyone else in school. I was a FREAK and a GEEK and a BAND FAG and a resident troll in MARLBORO COUNTRY as our off campus and totally forbidden smoking section was known. My bosses did not award me for being there or recognize my efforts because I was on time for the whole quarter reporting period. They certainly didn't give me parties or celebrations because I was amongst their valued employees. I towed the line or I expected to be fired. I excelled and did more than my job for recognition. I've been let go from jobs where I wasn't in the top 10 performers... can you IMAGINE? THE GALL OF THOSE ASSHATS TREATING LIFE LIKE A CONTEST? right. yeah. so...

And in all of that I'm STILL an optimist, and I can spell it AND define it and use it in a sentence without studying all night beforehand.

When I am faced by a challenge in WoW or Rift or Skyrim or any of the other games I've played I don't throw the controller or scream in mute frustration... my complaints are precise and organized and often contain the words I or ME and YOU and THEY.

This makes my complaints about WoW very interesting... and here's why...

BECAUSE YOU and THEY ARE THE FUCKING PROBLEM.

Untrainable. Unreachable. Uncaring. Inhuman. Stupid. Cruel. Selfish. Myopic. Incapable. Useless.

I do an awful lot of research and reading and training and preparing so that I feel like a good representative of my role/class/race in any game.

And in the end I still have to play with the folks who really aren't worth the money they pay to Blizz for their subscription if I want to have and get the things I want for my character.

This is why I left last time.

I got to the place where my amazing optimism could not paint highlights on the shiny wonderful things anymore and I was left with only the shadows threatening to encroach on me from every side.

I quit 3 dungeons in a row yesterday.

One as a DPS because the healer went ape shit on me for doing something wrong because I used up most of his mana to heal me. Umm... did you bother to LOOK at my health, dumbass? I'm in raid gear... my health pool is double the tank's. Don't heal me and I'll do it myself. Don't YELL AT ME for it. Particularly since he had just finished going ape shit on the party for not killing and CCing things in the right order and still didn't bother to explain which ones. It's like saying, "I know you're supposed to do it different but I was too fucking lazy to pay any attention so you're all failed assholes and I need more elite people to carry me through it again!" I asked him to mark the pulls since he had lead anyway (yeah, fucking hilarious) and when he said it wasn't his job I called him on it pointing out that he's creating the problem that he was yelling about by NOT marking the pulls as the one in charge, breaking my own rule about kissing the healer's ass no matter what, and he went crap crazy on me for typoing whiney. LOL. So I dropped because I'd died twice, no one listened when the tank DID tell them what to do and the heals dropped mid-fight to prove he had a penis, I think, or perhaps because he'd discovered he didn't.

The next two because no matter how many times or ways I described how I wanted the fights the "Resident Expert" (I've come to think about this like the creatures in the shadows like in resident evil, btw... lol. always lurking there on hold in their diseased 2D lives waiting for the hero to enter screen right and then becoming manic and hungry with greedy fingers reaching and bodies shaking while they groan and drool all over themselves in anticipation of leaping out on their next victim) would inform me that I was wrong and then suggest something insanely harder than the actual prescribed method for whatever fight it was and then refuse to participate in any helpful or meaningful way if I didn't do what they demanded be done.

"How did the tank die?" From the Death Knight who didn't bother to attack either SKULL or X as they were marked and died attacking a bubbled opponent dealing all of the damage he received back to his attacker.

"idk. he was just suddenly taking a real lot of damage and then died." This from the healer who didn't know they were healing apparently until the hunter died after I went down... even after clicking "ready" when I did the ready check AND after I marked SKULL "Julienne says Kill skull first." And then I marked X "Julienne says Kill X second." And even somehow after I used my Attack! Macro that says "Ready check is a GO..." in party chat as my character actually VERBALIZES "Charge!"

"Yeah, fucking tank doesn't have any gear on doesn't know the pull and ignored my cc."

"Fucking tank ignored your cc of my target marked skull? Yep. Sure did. will do it again, too." I respond.

"Everyone knows you have to do that pull different."

"They do? I've never seen it or done it any other way, so apparently there's a good number of us who DONT know that it has to be done another way. It's 4 mobs, 2 are casters and 2 need to be immune to damage for a few seconds of dps. Kill the healers first."

"Look, you're doing it wrong. I'm not trying to argue."

... doing a good job all on your own then, there...  you must be a natural.

Resident Experts are in and of themselves the bane of my existence. There's no disagreeing with them, no dealing with them and the only hope is to kick them and set the standard somewhere near "Hi, I'm your new asshole tank... piss me off and you're next."

If that's what I have to do then I respectfully submit that I'd rather clip my toenails and mop the bathroom floor.

yep. struggling in a terrible way.

I'mma see if Hornz has any suggestions.

1 comment:

  1. *Stands in the corner with the really heavy book, bashing myself about the head and shoulders, like one of the monks in "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"*

    Oh, were we done with that instance? ;)

    ReplyDelete